


Tipping the Crucible

by ConnieBailey



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: M/M, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:22:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnieBailey/pseuds/ConnieBailey
Summary: Tipping the Crucible is an RPS A/U using actors from the MCU movies. If I've cast someone's favorite as a bad guy, I don't mean anything by it. It was fun making up the story, and I hope anyone who cares to read it will be entertained.
Relationships: Tom Holland/Ryan Reynolds
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	1. One

Robert Downey Junior drove his sportscar down to the riverfront, passing docks and warehouses that had seen much better days. He distracted himself from the obviously sketchy nature of the area by picturing it as the setting for his next project, putting frames around each scene. Peeling layers of industrial paint, scabs of rust, and a coating of black grime were key décor elements; factory grunge—exactly what he was looking for. With the arrogance of one born wealthy, attractive, intelligent, and talented, he stopped the car and got out. His sense of entitlement kept him from being the least bit worried about his safety.

As Robert was walking away from the Audi R8, someone called out to him. He took off his sunglasses and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair as he turned. “Are you talking to me?” he asked without a trace of anxiety. He knew his toned body cut a striking and authoritative figure in the tailored suit that whispered of wealth, and his elegant Vandyke beard added a slightly sinister touch. He had no doubt he could talk his way around a security guard or dock worker. If not, his wallet was thick with twenties recently dispensed from an ATM.

The person who stepped from the shadows of a dilapidated warehouse looked far too young to be employed anywhere around here, even if there was employment to be had. He was on the slight side and his too-large T-shirt made him seem even smaller.

“Watch your car for ten dollars,” he said.

“Thanks, but I can do that myself.”

“Suck you off for ten dollars,” the kid said in the same tone.

Robert blinked. He wasn’t shocked by a teenaged prostitute, but he hadn’t expected to meet anyone working in this largely abandoned part of the city. “Well, that I can’t do myself, but, uh, no thanks, I’m good.”

“Is there anything I could do to earn some cash?” An untrimmed mop of dark red curls shaded deep brown eyes, which the kid used like a stray puppy. “I got chased off my corner by some bigger guys, and I’m hungry.”

Robert took out his wallet and separated one bill from the rest. He offered it to the kid.

Warily, the young man approached Robert. “Twenty bucks? Why would you just give me a jackson? You want to put your finger in my butt, don’t you?”

“Not right now.” Robert smiled and kept playing it cool, despite the flickers of interest that were threatening to turn into a blaze. “You’re cute and all, but I’m kind of busy at the moment. Take the money. No strings.”

“There has to be a catch.”

Robert appraised the kid’s willowy frame with his expert eye and gave his growing curiosity a little free rein. “How tall are you?”

“What?”

“It’s an easy question.”

“Why do you want to know? Are you afraid I won’t fit in your trunk ?”

“That’s a fair question. If I was driving my Lamborghini, no way.”

“Funny guy.” Of course, the funny guy had a Lamborghini.

“Do you have a name?”

“It’s Tom.” Tom had no idea why he’d given this mark his real name. He was supposed to call himself Billy Joe, but it was too late to take it back now. Dammit, he needed to stay focused, but his brain insisted on worrying about things he couldn’t do anything about. Best to get this out of the way and get back home. Harrison was probably awake by now and hurting.

“How tall are you, Tom? About five eight?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You go what, around a buck twenty-five?”

“More like one thirty. Muscle weighs more than fat, you know.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Gimme a spin.”

“What?”

Robert held up his index finger and rotated it. “Turn around in a circle for me please, so I can see all of you.”

“You want that blow job after all?”

Robert chuckled. “Maybe later. Right now, I’m getting inspired, and believe it or not, it’s better than getting head.”

“Are you crazy?” The tone was more curious than accusatory. Tom took a step away from Robert.

“No, of course not. Even if I was, I have money, so I’d be eccentric, not crazy. Mr. Eccentric to you.” Robert smiled as he held out the money. “You want this or not?”

“I’m wondering what I have to do to earn it.”

“Right now? Nothing. All yours.” Robert put the bill on the ground and took a few steps back.

Tom snatched it up, quickly shoving it the pocket of his ragged jeans. He looked up at Robert. “Thanks. Much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome. You have nice manners. I expected you to grab the money and take off.”

“You said you had more.”

Robert chuckled again. “The fact is, I’m in desperate need of a guide, and you just passed the first test.” It wasn’t strictly true that he needed a guide, but he was intrigued. It couldn’t be mere coincidence; it had to be fate that put this waif in his path—this kid who had just the right edgy but innocent look—the perfect look for Robert’s new line of sportswear.

“Where do you want to go?” Tom asked a little impatiently.

“I’m looking for something that screams rotting industry. Anything like that around here?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re standing in it.”

“Anything that’s open? Maybe something missing part of a wall?”

“Sure. I’ll show it to you for another twenty.”

“Let’s see it. If I like it, I’ll give you four more twenties.”

“Bullshit.”

“So, you’re not interested?”

Tom pressed his lips together and frowned before he spoke again. This guy was weird, but he didn’t have a bad vibe, and a hundred dollars would be a big help. He could buy medicine for Harrison—not enough but a little was better than nothing. “This way,” he said, gesturing for Robert to follow.

Robert slipped his phone from his pocket and took Tom’s picture on the sly, already half in love, not in an amorous way, but aesthetically speaking. Tom had smooth skin, small features, broad cheekbones, and soulful dark eyes. His hair was thick with a wave to it, and best of all, it was a deep, dark shade of red. The closest thing Robert could liken the color to was the maroon of dried blood, but that felt unlucky, so he stopped trying to label it. It didn’t need a name; it just needed to catch fire in the light the way it was doing right now. Robert took another discreet photo while he admired the way the evening sun made a fiery halo of Tom’s springy hair.

They stopped at a building two blocks from the waterfront. “Wait here,” Tom said.

Robert watched in astonishment as Tom scampered up the building’s crumbling façade of concrete embellishments. When Tom reached the top, he pulled himself up onto the roof. A few seconds later, a side door opened and Tom leaned out. Robert hurried inside.

It was immediately apparent how Tom had entered. There was a hole the size of a small car in the roof and the second floor. Standing in center of the lobby, it was possible to look up and see clouds drifting by. All around, pieces of debris littered the floor.

“It’s perfect,” Robert said.

“For what?” Tom instantly regretted the careless question. Curiosity wasn’t safe.

“A photo shoot. I’m a professional photographer and designer.”

“Fancy.” Tom looked pointedly around at the water-damaged rubble and then back at Robert.

Robert smiled. “That’s the whole point. Fancy clothes in the least fancy place I can find.”

“You want contrast.”

“Exactly.” Robert paused and then, unaccustomed to resisting impulses, plunged ahead. “Do you need a job?”

Tom snorted. “Who doesn’t?”

“Fair point. If you’re interested in changing careers, allow me to offer you a position.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure what the position is. Most people call it doggy-style .”

“I’m not looking for sex, hard as that may be for you to comprehend. The truth is, I can tell you have a good eye, and I’d like you to be my assistant.”

“Dress up it however you want, pervert.”

Robert followed the kid back out of the building. “I can see that you’re hesitant to take my word. That’s completely understandable.” He pulled a business card from a small, elegant case. “Take this. And this.” He added four twenties he’d promised and then five more, making it an even two hundred. “The number on the back of the card is my private line. All I ask is that you call me if you change your mind.”

“Fine.” Tom took the card and the money. He didn’t feel good about it, but it would be stupid to refuse, and though he was often foolish, he was far from stupid . He watched the handsome, nice-smelling man in the sharp suit get into his fancy car before he abruptly turned away. He needed to stop dreaming and get home. Harrison was waiting.


	2. Two

Disappointed that he hadn’t been able to score despite his new wealth, Tom went home just before dark. He entered the empty warehouse through a transom and climbed down a stack of shelving shoved against the wall. None of the others noticed his arrival, which suited him fine. It would be dark soon, and he wanted to hang out with his best friend for a while before Andy the Dandy came looking for one of them. 

The space he and Harrison had carved out for themselves was at the northwest corner of the cavernous space. Wooden pallets, old mattresses, and plastic tarps made up the structure that was formed around a metal support column like a wasp’s nest on a branch. Tom had climbed that open-framed pillar to the beams more than once. It was a workout, but it offered an emergency escape route. A homeless kid couldn’t have enough of those.

When he reached the jumbled rubble he called home, he was dismayed to recognize the smell of Dandy Andy’s cigar. The man smoked something short and stout that smelled like ripe diapers and wet dog. Wrinkling his nose, Tom ducked under the tarp roof.

His gaze went first to Harrison, who was in the same spot where he’d left him two hours ago. Harrison looked a little paler, if that was possible, and his fair hair was soaked with sweat. The mattress under his head and his T-shirt were dark with damp. Ignoring the squatting man in the greasy purple fedora, Tom knelt beside the makeshift bed.

“How are you feeling?”

Harrison smiled wanly. “I’m alive. I don’t like it much, though.”

Dandy cleared his throat. “You’ll feel better in just a minute,” he said. He held out his hand to Harrison. On the back of his wrist was a small mound of off-white powder.

Tom bit his lip. He didn’t want Harrison to snort the heroin, but he knew his friend needed it. It was the only cure for his sickness. If he’d hustled a little harder and found a dealer, he’d be the one giving it to him, so hating Dandy seemed a little hypocritical. Tom hated him anyway and thought of him as The Rat in the Hat.

“Hang on a minute,” Dandy said as he pulled his hand back. He gave Tom a significant look.

Tom pulled Robert’s two hundred dollars from his pocket and gave it to Dandy.

“A pleasure doing business.” Dandy tucked the bills in his breast pocket and tossed a small packet on the mattress. “Now you only owe me three grand. I took ten percent off because you got good performance reviews this week. You keep yourself clean, and you don’t bitch… much. I’m thinking of raising your rate.”

“You’re a prince,” Tom said sarcastically. It didn’t matter to him what Dandy charged for his services. He wouldn’t see more than ten percent of it, if that. The rest, according to the pimp, went for rent and utilities. _Yeah right._

“You’re damn right I am.” Dandy raised his voice. “If it wasn’t for me, you punks wouldn’t have a roof over your head, so you want to start showing a little gratitude or you and your pal will be on the street. Good luck finding another soft touch like me.”

“We’re not punks.”

“Tommy, please,” Harrison said weakly.

Tom dropped his gaze to the floor. “Sorry, Mr. Serkis,” he said. “I’m a little stressed, or I would never have talked to you like that.”

Dandy smiled smugly as he offered his hand to Harrison again.

Tom’s heart broke for about the twenty-seven-thousandth time as he watched Harrison clutch Dandy’s arm to steady himself before snorting the powder. He was waiting to catch his friend when he went limp, and he eased him back down to the mattress. Harrison lay there like something without bones, his eyes going blurry as the opiate softened everything like poisonous cotton candy.

“Not feeling so bad now, eh?” Dandy said slyly.

Tom cradled Harrison in his arms. “Why can’t you leave him alone?”

“Because he’s still my best earner.” Dandy paused. “You should bleach your hair. You’d make more money. Everybody likes blonds.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious. I suggest you start. And another thing, your pal nodded off during the last session, and the client was not happy. If the client isn’t happy, I’m not happy. Am I making my point?”

“Yeah,” Tom said sullenly.

“You going to give me more grief?”

Tom gritted his teeth. “No.” 

“Get him cleaned up,” Dandy nudged Harrison’s leg with the toe of his shoe. “He’s got a date tonight.”

“He’s in no shape for it. He’s sick.”

“He’s strung out.”

“Yeah, and who gave him the shit in the first place?”

Dandy shrugged. “He was curious.”

“Asshole.”

The smug look fell off Dandy’s face. “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

Tom softened his voice. “Come on, man. Harrison can’t go out tonight.”

“Then you can take his place.”

“Fine.”

Dandy shook his head. “You’re a pistol, kid. I gotta admire that, but I also gotta think you’re gonna get popped sooner than later.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Dandy’s scowl cracked in a big grin. “A real pistol,” he said. “Look, kid, you’re useful to me so I’m cutting you some slack. It’s stupid, but I’m doing it anyway.” He poked Harrison with his shoe again. “You got a couple hours before your ride shows up. Take it easy. Suck each other’s dicks. Whatever. Just be cleaned up and ready to go at eight. Clear?”

“Depressingly so.”

After Dandy left, Tom stretched out on the mattress. Wrapping his arms around Harrison, he held him until he drifted into sleep. Only then did Tom go clean up.

The only running water was in a good-sized room that had once been the precinct of a janitorial staff, but at least there was hot as well as cold. Against one wall was a large, sturdy double sink. Each side was just big enough for someone Tom’s size to sit comfortably with his knees drawn up. Occasionally, when he was sure he was alone, he would fill up one of the sinks and have a soak. Usually, he just used a rag and liquid soap while standing at the sink.

When he was satisfied that he wouldn’t offend anyone with body odor, he put on his other pair of jeans and the Goodwill T-shirt Dandy had left behind. He wasn’t sure what Disney would think of a boy-whore wearing the likeness of their fishtailed princess, but he didn’t really care—anymore than he cared that it was a girl’s shirt. The only thing he cared about these days was getting Harrison out of this life before it killed him.

When Tom walked out to the front of the warehouse, he recognized another of Dandy’s tenants by the swooping wave of bright yellow bleached hair. “I thought this was your night off, Tone,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Tony High-Tone looked up from his phone. “Dandy told me to wait here for a ride. He also told me to tell you he was just kidding.”

“What an asshole.”

“Yeah.” Tony looked back down at his phone.

“Listen, man, you go enjoy your night off. I’ve got this.”

Tony met Tom’s gaze. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“As long as the client gets off, Dandy’s not going to complain, right?”

“True. It’s not like the client requested me or anything. I’m just filling in.” Tony smirked at his lame double-entendre.

“Right? So, get out of here. I told you; I got this.”

“You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Go,” Tom said in exasperation. “Go before the car gets here and the client starts thinking it’s buy one-get one free.”

Tony grinned. “You’re a righteous dude, T.” He shot Tom a double thumbs-up and strolled off.

Tom reached for his phone to text Dandy and tell him about the switch and then remembered he’d left it with Harrison. As he turned to go back in, a very shiny black Cadillac Escalade stopped next to him. He waited as the heavily tinted driver’s side window slid smoothly down.

The man behind the wheel had a face made up of sharp angles. His lofty cheekbones looked like they could cut paper and his eyes were silvery-blue. “Are you Billy Joe?” he said in clipped tones with a British accent.

Tom nodded, mesmerized by that arctic gaze. The man radiated the emotionless menace of a great white shark.

“Get in.”

Tom started to walk around the car.

“No!” the man said loudly. “Get in the back.”

Tom opened the back door and got into the big vehicle.

“Buckle up.” The man watched in rear view until Tom buckled his seat belt. “I’m Mr. Hiddleston. I’ll be delivering you. I’m sure you know the protocol, but it never hurts to refresh the memory. You keep your eyes and hands to yourself and don’t speak unless someone asks you a direct question. Other than that, just be compliant.” He met Tom’s gaze in the mirror. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Abruptly, Tom remembered his phone. He could picture it on the flattened pillow next to Harrison’s head. “Give me a minute. I forgot something.” He put his hand on the door handle and heard the locks thunk. He yanked the spindle back up, opened the door, and jumped out.

Hiddleston threw his door open and grabbed a handful of Tom’s T-shirt. “Get back in the car.”

“Fuck off.” Tom elbowed Hiddleston in the side.

Instead of letting go, as Tom expected, Hiddleston ignored the not inconsiderable pain, tightened his grip, and yanked Tom backward. Tom struggled as Hiddleston used his greater reach and weight to maneuver him back through the door frame. Tom kicked out, but Hiddleston grabbed his foot and shoved him into the backseat. Tom went for the other door, and Hiddleston jerked his gun from the shoulder holster.

“Stop,” he said and the edge in his voice froze Tom in mid-reach. “Sit and put the seat belt on.”

Tom did as he was told. Hiddleston shut the door and got back behind the wheel.

“I just needed five minutes,” Tom said.

“You’re not on your time now, darling. You’re on mine. Keep quiet and don’t do anything else stupid.”

“All of this is stupid.”

Hiddleston put the SUV in gear. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he said under his breath.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic descriptions.

Hugo Weaving didn’t look up from his laptop screen when his office door opened. He knew exactly who had entered and that he had nothing to fear from them. This was his inner sanctum, very private and heavily guarded, where he felt free to be himself.

When the video he was watching reached a part he’d seen many times, he paused it and gave his attention to the impeccably dressed man in front of his desk. He glanced at the slight teenaged boy standing next to the man and a frown furrowed his face.

“I wanted the pretty blond one.”

Hiddleston ran his free hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair as he answered. With the other hand, he kept a grip on the lad’s upper arm. “He wasn’t available. This is the best they had on short notice.”

“Is that right, Hiddleston?” It was Hugo’s habit to call hirelings by their last names. He was always on the lookout for any sign of familiarity in his “staff,” as he referred to the people who made their living off him. No one wanted to harm the goose that was laying all those golden eggs, but there were many who wanted to get close to him, closer to the source, as it were. Hugo had no use for friends or sycophants. The need for human company was a weakness; a flaw that could be exploited by enemies.

And Hugo had enemies, lots of enemies.

No one becomes a mob boss without pissing off some people on the way up. There were at least three other bosses in the city who had lost key people and territory to Hugo’s enforcers. Any one of them would be glad to take him out, if they weren’t smart enough to see the consequences of removing him. And there were others, lower down the food chain, who would be happy to see Hugo’s lifeblood draining from his cut throat—whores, junkies, loan sharks, and any number of grieving family members who could trace a loved one’s death back to him.

“Yes, sir, that’s right.” Hiddleston lied. “I told The Dandy you weren’t going to be happy.”

Hugo stared at Hiddleston.

“I’m sorry,” Hiddleston said. He didn’t say what for. Appeasing his boss was a perfunctory act.

“What’s this one’s name?” Hugo nodded at the disheveled teen.

“I’m Billy Joe to my clients,” Tom said.

Hugo smirked. “Did you hear that, Hiddles? I’m a client not a john. La-dee-da.”

Hiddleston gave the kid’s triceps a hard squeeze, as annoyed by his boss’s nickname for him as he was by the boy’s disobedience. “What did I tell you about talking?”

“You said not to,” Tom answered promptly. “But I figure this guy outranks you by a lot, and he asked my name.”

Hugo’s smirk stayed in place. “Feisty, are we?”

“He’s a handful,” Hiddleston confirmed. “We had a little wrestling match earlier.”

“You like to fight, Billy Joe?” Hugo addressed Tom directly.

“No, I don’t, but I’m not afraid of one.”

“Excellent. Come closer.” Hugo turned his laptop around so the screen faced Tom. “What do you think of that?”

The video had paused on the image of a young man shackled facedown to an X-shaped table. His pale hair was damp with sweat, his delicate features tight with pain. His skin was covered in welts, burns, and bruises in various stages of progression. A naked man in a red skull mask stood between the manacled boy’s thighs holding a large, red rubber dildo. The boy reminded Tom too much of Harrison. His stomach lurched.

“That’s some sick-ass shit right there,” he said bluntly.

“It doesn’t appeal to you then?”

Tom shook his head and the desk lamp ignited splinters of fiery copper in his dark hair. He forced himself to look at the freeze-frame again, refusing to let any trace of his fear show on his face. “I wouldn’t want to be either one of them.”

“Tell me why.”

“Are you kidding? That thing’s the size of my arm. I don’t care how much lube you use, that’s gonna hurt like a bitch. That’s not play. That’s torture.”

“That’s a very sane response. And why wouldn’t you want to be the other man?”

“I don’t think anyone _wants_ to be sadistic piece of shit, but some people are just wired wrong, you know?”

“I see.”

“If that’s what you’re into, this is off,” Tom said. “Us Billy Joes don’t do S&M shit. You don’t believe me; you can call The Dandy and ask.”

“As long as I’m paying, you’ll do as I say.” Hugo pressed a button on his desk as he stood up, and a door opened in the wall to his right. “You can go now, Hiddles,” he said.

“Sir, you know I’d never question one of your decisions, but I have to ask if this is wise.”

Hugo ran his gaze over Tom’s compact frame. “No, of course, it isn’t,” he said. “But vices are rarely wise, and this is not my first time.” He glanced at Tom. “I can handle him.”

Hiddleston wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told. He was halfway to the door when the kid called after him.

“Are you really going to leave me alone with him?” Tom immediately regretted the question. He’d wanted to make Hiddleston feel bad, if possible, but it had only made him sound weak. He looked away from the door and met Hugo’s gaze.

Hiddleston kept walking, out the door and down the hall. He was a stone-cold contract killer, but the things his boss did to unwind made him sick to his stomach. He knew Hugo felt no more guilt in his actions than the average anaconda. True, Hugo’s lack of anything resembling ethics or remorse had helped him get to the top, but psychopaths made Hiddleston nervous. They all cracked, sooner or later. He was almost glad to see The Dandy crabbing up the walkway of Mr. Weaving’s private residence. He could use an excuse to vent the inconvenient emotions that made him uncomfortable.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hiddleston said.

Dandy Andy recoiled from the whiplash of Hiddleston’s voice.

“Answer me, you sewer rat in a shitty hat.”

As if prompted, Dandy stroked the purple feather in his grimy, putty-colored fedora. “I’m here because you took the wrong kid. You can’t have Tommy.”

“I thought his name was Billy Joe.”

“I call all of them Billie Joe because it amuses me, and that’s the name they’d better damn well answer to unless they want the strap.”

Hiddleston was not impressed. “Wow,” he said flatly. “You pimp those lads out, use them as drug mules, and you beat them too? You’re Employer of the Year.”

“Fuck you, you Limey string bean. Where’s the boss?”

Hiddleston was about to tell Dandy to fuck off out of sight, but he changed his mind. He could do better than that. “The door at the end of the hall,” he said. “I’d give him a few minutes.”

“Is Tommy in there?”

“Indeed he is, most likely on his knees.” Hiddleston narrowed his eyes. “What’s so special about him that you flew over here with your arse on fire?”

“I’m grooming him for when I start keeping book.”

“You want to be a bookie, now? You’re a real prick of all trades.”

“This coming from a guy who whacks people for a living?”

“You should take that into consideration when you decide to insult me.”

Dandy made a scoffing sound. “You won’t lay a finger on me unless Mr. Weaving says it’s okay.”

“Because you’re a favorite of his, aren’t you?”

Dandy preened a little. “I know what he likes, and I can supply it.” He paused. “Just not Tommy.”

“Why not?”

“He’s got smarts.”

“I didn’t notice any high level of intelligence. He gave Mr. Weaving some lip.”

“Yeah, that’s Tommy. That kid ain’t scared of nothin’.”

“That kid will die young.”

Dandy shrugged. “There’s more where he came from, maybe not as smart, but plenty more.”

“Then why are you in such a lather?

“Fuck you, you English asshole.” Dandy walked away down the front hall.

“Fuck me?” Hiddleston said to himself, as he watched Dandy Andy approach the office door. “I think not, frog face. I think it will be you who is royally fucked.” With a small smile on his lips, he left for a late dinner at his favorite restaurant.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence.

Tom looked through the doorway into Hugo’s “playroom,” noting the wall-mounted shackles, a leather sling hanging from chains, and lots of other equipment he didn’t recognize. He was about to make a run for it when he felt a puff of displaced air on his cheek. He spun around, but Hugo was right behind him. He felt a sting on the side of his neck, and he realized he’d been drugged as the world started to melt around him.

Hugo turned Tom to face the door again. “Sodium thiopental,” he said, as he pushed him into the room. “Everyone uses propofol these days, but I suppose you’d say I’m old-school.”

Tom wanted to say something cutting. but his skull was now a bone bowl full of cold oatmeal. He had all he could do to stay on his feet.

“Good,” Hugo said as he watched Tom’s face go slack. “You’ll be unconscious in about thirty seconds, and you’ll be out around ten or fifteen minutes, just long enough to for me to restrain you.” He smiled. “I want you awake and aware of what I’m going to do to you. Otherwise, it’s no fun for me.”

Hugo took Tom’s arm and guided him to a modern version of a Puritan-style pillory fashioned of chromed metal and milled blocks of high-density plastic. He put Tom’s left wrist in one of the armholes. As the lock snapped shut, he heard someone enter his office. His face contorted in a snarl as he strode to the door. Compelled by the animal instincts that controlled him now, Hugo charged the intruder. Behind him, Tom lost consciousness and hung from the shackle by his left arm.

Slightly more than fifteen minutes later, Tom slowly became aware of an agonizing pain in his left shoulder. Woozy, he didn’t try to think, but let his body react however it wanted. He planted his feet and rose to his full height, taking the strain off his arm. It was several long moments before he figured out what was keeping him from leaving, and several more to figure out how flip the hinge and free himself. Still groggy, he headed for the door that was slightly ajar. One shuffling step at a time, he crossed the tile floor. By the time he reached the opening, he’d remembered where he was.

Cautiously, Tom peered through the crack into the next room. The office had undergone a violent renovation since he’d seen it last. Almost every surface was liberally splashed with bright, gleaming scarlet. Movement drew his gaze and he focused on the bizarre tableau on the carpet in front of the desk.

The client, as naked as he’d been born, crouched over a mound of something Tom couldn’t quite bring into focus. From his nose down, Hugo’s face was a crimson mask and his arms were red to the elbow. His bared teeth glistened red and white as he chewed. On the floor a few feet away lay a battered fedora with a small purple feather in the band.

As Tom realized what he was looking at, a rush of adrenaline blasted away the last vestiges of the drug in his system. If this man had torn Dandy apart with his bare hands, he wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of a witness. He had to get out here. If only that shark in a three-piece-suit had let him go back for his phone, he could call someone.

Tom looked around the room, but he had no hope that there was another exit. He looked through the crack again and froze. The psycho was nowhere in sight. Tom’s heart was pounding so hard that it was several seconds before he heard the sound of running water. Holding his breath, he eased the door open another centimeter.

Bright light streamed through a partially open door in the opposite wall. Steam poured through the gap as well, and Tom’s lagging brain made a connection. The psycho was having a much-needed shower. Hardly daring to believe his luck, he didn’t vacillate. He opened the door and walked as quickly as he could to the entrance. He grimaced as he did his best to avoid the puddles and splatters, but it was impossible. How much blood could one body hold? It looked like a lot more than eight pints to Tom.

In the hallway, he looked left and right, saw no one, and turned right. He’d come in from the left and could be reasonably sure there was a thug on guard out front. Silent in his sneakers, he crept to the end of the hall. To his right was a dining room, to his left, a kitchen. He entered the kitchen and went to the back door. Through the pane of glass in the upper half, he saw a well-lit, screened-in swimming pool and a green lawn enclosed on three sides by a brick wall topped with ironwork. It was a pleasant scene, even at night; nothing about it hinted at the horrors that went on inside.

Tom crossed the patio leaving red footprints on the flagstones. Still a bit sluggish, he trudged forward, managing to avoid the lawn furniture. The brick wall offered toe and fingerholds and normally Tom would have scaled it like a lizard. As he was, he ripped his shirt on a spike as he went over. He dropped heavily to the sidewalk and quickly moved back to lean against the wall. He didn’t see or hear anyone but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

After a minute, Tom decided he’d rather take his chances with anyone other than the man who’d ripped Dandy to pieces. He flitted to the other side of the alleyway and looked around the corner. There was no one in sight. Streetlights cast pools of light on parked cars and the fronts of a couple of genteel apartment buildings. Home was hours away on foot, but he didn’t dare hitch a ride. How could he be sure the driver didn’t work for the psycho? No, the best thing to do was just run until he couldn’t run anymore.

A wraith in bloodstained tennis shoes, Tom moved from shadow to shadow, intent on putting distance between him and the house of horrors.

Hiddleston reached for his wallet and had a freeze-frame memory of setting it on the console of the Escalade. He smiled up at the elderly waiter. “Claude, I’m terribly embarrassed, but I seem to have left my wallet in the car.”

“I don’t mind waiting while you fetch it, sir.”

“Ah, but I decided to walk to dinner this evening.”

“I see. Don’t give it a thought, sir,” Claude said. “You’re one of our most valued patrons. Would you care to have the rest of your dessert boxed?”

“That would be lovely.”

“Don’t worry about the bill. It can be sent to you or you may settle it on your next visit. I’ll inform the maître d’ for you, if you wish.”

“You are really too kind.”

“It’s a pleasure, sir.”

When Claude returned with a small pastry box, Hiddleston left the restaurant and made his way back to Hugo’s “safe house,” as he thought of it, the anomalous piece of suburbia in the city. He figured he’d given the boss enough time to do whatever he was going to do. Now it was just a matter of calling for a cleaner.

Hiddleston’s mind was three steps ahead when he was jarred from his thoughts by the red footprints on the concrete in front of him. A glance showed him the footprints led to the back wall of the house. Instantly, his awareness sharpened to a scalpel’s edge. He sensed no one nearby as he continued up the walkway to the house, but he didn’t relax. He glided up the front steps, pulled his weapon, and entered the building. Immediately, he saw the bloody tracks leading from the office and his skin went cold. What the hell had happened here?

The office door opened and Hiddleston came close to shooting his boss. “Bloody hell!”

Hugo gave his chief enforcer a mild look. “Did you have a nice dinner?”

“I did. What the hell happened here?”

“Oh… that. I’m afraid I’ve made a mess.”

“I had already planned on calling a cleaner, but—"

“We need a deep clean,” Hugo interrupted. “Someone we know we can trust without a doubt.”

Hiddleston took a look through the open doorway and was awestruck by the sheer amount of blood spatter on the walls. And then his eye fell on the fedora. “Boss?”

“What is it, Hiddles?” Hugo finished straightening his tie and met his enforcer’s gaze with a marked lack of interest.

“Is— _Was_ that The Dandy?” Hiddleston asked though he knew very well who it was.

“Yes,” Hugo said. “He interrupted me.”

Hiddleston thought for a moment. Hugo was obviously in the fugue-like state that followed his more extreme entertainments. It was up to him to keep things on track until his boss snapped out of his constrictor-like torpor. He didn’t feel a bit sorry for The Dandy, though no one deserved to die like that, not even drug-dealing kiddie-pimp scum.

All right then. First things first. He called a man he’d used before when things had got out of control. The fee would be hefty but this was no time to haggle. He needed to be swift and decisive. Those bloody footprints nagged at him. Clearly, the whore had run. He needed to wrap up the technicalities quickly so he could turn his attention to that detail.

Hiddleston put his phone away. “I just go see if I can find Billy Joe, shall I?”

“Good idea. Make sure he doesn’t tell anyone about this place.”

Hiddleston nodded respectfully though it grated on him to be told the very obvious. “Of course. Where will you be if I need to reach you?”

“I’ll be here. Not in the office, of course.”

“Perhaps you should—”

“What? Go to a hotel? Or one of my other houses?”

“It might be wise.”

“You’re obsessed,” Hugo said tonelessly.

“What?” Hiddleston was genuinely startled by the statement.

“Don’t look so upset. It’s an asset in your line of work.” Hugo cleared his throat. “Why are you still here?”

Hiddleston turned and left without another word. If it weren’t for the obscene amount of money he was salting away, he’d quit permanently, right now. If not for his dream of owning an island, he’d shoot Hugo in the head, push his body into the scene of his crime, and flee the country. In fact, it would be a distinct pleasure, as well as a public service, to kill Hugo. The man had no sense of style whatsoever.


	5. Five

Tom loitered in an alley across the street from The Dandy’s warehouse. He was sure the psycho would send people after him to make sure he didn’t talk about what he’d seen. His caution proved well-founded when he saw the gleaming black Escalade cruise by like an orca. His survival instinct urged him to run, but Harrison was in there. There had to be a way to get him out before the psycho’s men went in. Making a sudden decision, he turned and fled down the alleyway. On the next block, he entered a tiny storefront. The place sold everything from off-brand soda to cheap socket sets, and all of it arrived on a boat from China.

“Hey, Remy,” Tom said to the Asian-looking teenager sitting behind the counter.

Remy Hii looked up from his phone. “What up, dog?”

“Can I borrow your phone?”

Remy’s affable demeanor evaporated. “What for?” he asked suspiciously. He didn’t mind the street kids coming in to use the bathroom or whatever; he pretended to look down on them but secretly thought they were cool. Still, like his mom said, if you gave them an inch, they’d take a mile.

“I need to let a friend know about something.”

“I can’t have any drug deals going down on my cell. They monitor that shit.”

Tom sighed. “I just need to warn Harrison.”

“Oh. Okay.” Remy handed over his Android. “I’m listening in though.”

Tom rolled his eyes as he punched in the number of his phone. He didn’t have voicemail and let it ring eight times. He glanced at Remy and thought fast. There had to be someone he could call. He reached absently into his pocket searching for some cash—buying something would mollify Remy—and his fingers touched paper. It was too stiff to be money though.

Remy was gesturing impatiently as Tom pulled the card from his pocket. “Come on, man.”

“Chill.” Tom entered the phone number on the back of the card.

Robert answered warily in the middle of the third ring. “Who is this, please?”

“Are you the designer guy?”

“According to some. Who is this?”

“You gave me some money to show you around the waterfront.”

“Tom?”

“Yeah. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. Someone’s after me. Can you help?”

Robert didn’t hesitate “Absolutely. Where are you?”

Tom took a breath and gave Robert the address of the warehouse. “Something bad is going to happen there soon. I need you to call it in.”

“Are you all right?”

“No, but I’m maintaining.”

“Stay where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

“Negative. The important thing is the warehouse. I need to get my friend out of there. I called 911, but they wouldn’t take me seriously,” Tom lied.

“I’m going to need a few more de—”

Tom hung up and handed the phone back to Remy. He bought a blister-pack of breath-freshening gum and left. As he stepped out of the store, the Escalade rolled by again. The driver looked straight at Tom and slammed on the brakes. Tom ducked into the alley, ran, and didn’t look back.

Hiddleston watched Tom disappear into the warren of back lanes and took his foot off the brake. He’d lost the kid for now, but his friends would know where he hung out. Hiddleston pulled up to the warehouse, parked around the side, and walked in like he owned the place.

Tom circled back to the warehouse and stood uncertainly on the corner. Before he could make up his mind what to do, he heard sirens and ducked back into a dark doorway. Flashing lights strobed red and blue over the buildings as a patrol car slewed around the corner and came to a stop. Tom watched the cops get out and go inside. A moment later, the Escalade bolted from a side street and sped away. Tom breathed a sigh of relief. It looked as if the psycho had sent one guy, and he was gone now.

Several minutes later, an unmistakably unmarked police car pulled up and parked. A handsome man in a cheap suit and a petite woman in jeans and a black leather jacket got out. One of the uniformed cops came out and spoke to them for a few seconds before they went inside. In another minute, Tom heard the warbling sound of an ambulance siren. He started out of hiding but stopped when he saw a familiar car coming down the street. As discreetly as possible, he flagged the driver.

Robert pulled the Audi to the curb on the side street and parked. “You rang?” he said.

The joke went over Tom’s head. “Thanks for coming and for calling the cops.”

“Well, you sounded… distraught. How are you? You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.” Tom bit his bottom lip. “I just need to know Harrison’s okay.”

“That’s your friend? He’s in there?” Robert pointed at the warehouse.

“Yeah. We live there. I saw the guy who was after me go in.”

“The best thing to do is wait for the cops to handle it.”

“They got here really fast.”

“I must have made it sound urgent.” Robert paused. “Why was someone after you?”

Tom didn’t answer.

“I want to help you, but I need to know what I’m getting into.”

“My friend owes a lot of money for drugs.”

Robert grimaced. “I had a little experience with that, back in the day. I don’t really want any more.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tom nodded. He was well aware of the way the world worked. “See you around.”

“Wait! Come with me.”

“What?”

“Get in the car and I’ll drive us both away from here. I was serious about the job.”

“I can’t leave Harrison.”

Robert thought for a moment. “Look, if he’s here, the police will take care of him. Later, we can call them and find out what’s going on. If he needs bail, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“I have no idea. Why did you call me?”

“I was desperate.”

“And you had no one else you could turn to, right?”

Tom looked at the ground. “That’s right.” He looked up again and met Robert’s gaze, his eyes dark and liquid as a fawn’s. “Harrison’s the only friend I’ve got.”

“Quite the little manipulator, aren’t you?” Robert said.

Tom dropped the puppy dog act with a shrug. “If you aren’t six feet tall and built like The Rock, it helps to be persuasive.”

“No doubt, and I wasn’t judging you.”

“Yeah, right.” Tom watched the front door open. “Cops are coming back out. I think those two are detectives.”

Robert ignored the uniformed officers and studied the man and woman in plainclothes. “Pity about that suit,” he said. “That young man would be a head turner in one of my designs.”

“He’s pretty hot as he is.”

“I defer to your expertise.”

“Is that some kind of insult?”

“No. Not in English anyway.”

Tom almost smiled but caught himself in time.

“I’m leaving before those cops notice us,” Robert said. “Are you coming with me?”

Tom stared at the warehouse, clearly torn. When Robert got in the car, Tom made up his mind. “Just so we’re clear,” he said as he buckled his seat belt, his mouth set in a grim line. “This doesn’t mean we’re best friends or anything.”

“I would never presume you were being friendly.” Robert put Audi in gear and rolled quietly away down the side street.


	6. Six

Detective Ryan Reynolds saw the rear of the black Audi as it rounded the corner, and he absently admired the sleek lines of the high-end vehicle. Then it occurred to him to wonder why a car like that was cruising this neighborhood and his internal alarm went off. He didn’t know what the expensive car had to do with the murders of a couple of street kids, but somehow, it was connected. He’d bet his badge on it.

“Reynolds.” Scarlett Johansson smacked her partner’s shoulder. “Nap on your own time.”

“Sorry, did I miss something important?” Ryan asked sarcastically. “Did you find more bodies while I was nodding off?”

Scarlett rolled her jade green eyes. “Two aren’t enough for you?”

“Just sayin’ it’s obvious more than two kids live here.” Ryan turned to the patrol cops. “You know who owns this place?”

The older cop—Simmons—answered. “A lowlife named Serkis. Wears a fancy hat with a purple feather. Likes people to call him The Dandy.”

“Pretentious much?” Scarlett commented.

“You can ask him when we talk to him about his rental units,” Ryan said as he typed on his phone. “Here we go. Andy Serkis. Big Top Enterprises. Is that supposed to be clever?” He made a call but got no answer. “I guess we do it the slow way.”

“Thanks, guys,” Scarlett said to the unis. “Call us if you hear anything, yeah?”

“You bet,” the younger one said. He looked up from ogling her booty to see Ryan staring at him over the roof of the unmarked car.

“Nice bumper, huh?” Ryan drawled. He wasn’t smiling.

Scarlett rolled her eyes again. “Stop scaring the rookie and get in the car, Reynolds.” She smiled over her shoulder at the two unis. “It is a nice bumper, after all.”

“I’ve got my eye on you,” Ryan told the rookie before he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Keep this up and I’ll never get another date. He was kind of cute too,” Scarlett said before she checked in on the radio. She passed the word they were looking for Mr. Andy Serkis, and then sat back in her seat to enjoy the ride. Ryan handled a car well, and she liked the way his big hands looked wrapped around the wheel. He was a sexy man on his worst days, but when he was charge of something with a lot of horsepower, well, it did things to her.

Scarlett glanced sideways at her partner’s boyishly handsome profile. He was a good-looking man, but the overall impression he gave was one of warmth. Something about him was as inviting as a fire on a cold day, and he was an itch she’d had to scratch at least once. She was just glad she’d got to know him before they actually slept together—glad she’d found out that the impression of warmth was a mirage. Each time she felt they were getting close, he’d draw back, not in any dramatic way, just a mending of fences, as some poet once said. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to let her in, she lost interest in ever sleeping with him again. The sex was good, but she hadn’t felt any great passion from him, and she’d outgrown the “friends with benefits” phase of her life in college. She suspected he swung harder in the other direction, anyway.

The silver lining was that once they’d got the affair out of their systems, they were able to settle into a remarkably well-balanced partnership. He’d never treated her as anything but an equal. In fact, he seemed to think she was the better cop to judge by the way he deferred to her so often. They were both sharp, unorthodox, and profoundly committed to apprehending murderers, and at twenty-eight and twenty-six respectively, they were the youngest, as well as the most successful, detectives in their precinct. They’d had medals for valor pinned to their chests by the commissioner. Great things were expected of them, as the saying goes. If they felt the pressure, it never showed. Praise and derision alike were water on a duck’s back. The job was all that mattered.

“What’s our next move?” Ryan asked.

“I could eat,” Scarlett said.

“Split a calzone?”

“Sold.”

Ryan made a left and headed for their favorite Italian place.

Robert parked behind a building that vaguely resembled a cubist’s idea of an ocean liner cast in concrete. He saw Tom’s curious expression and shared some trivia. “The style is late Art Deco,” he said. “The architect had a thing for—” He stopped talking when Tom got out of the car. Clearly, this was not a subject the kid was dying to hear about.

“Are you hungry?” Robert asked as he led the way into the building.

Tom looked around at the broad expanse of the ground floor. He took in the pair of long tables equipped with industrial sewing machines. “You live in a sweat shop?”

“Uh, no. Those sewing machines are for my use. This is my design studio.” Robert pointed up. “My living quarters are upstairs, but down here is where my fantasies become reality.”

Tom glanced at the racks that held bolts of fabric. “So… you really design clothes?” His tone revealed that he still had many doubts.

“Among other things. Clothing interests me at the moment. Fabric is so sensuous. The way chiffon floats makes my heart beat faster.”

Tom struggled to keep the smile from his face. “Could you be any gayer?”

“I suppose I could try.” Robert affected a limp-wristed posture.

“You mentioned food?” Tom said to keep from laughing at Robert’s clowning.

“Right this way.” Robert led Tom to a freight elevator, and they ascended to the second floor.

Robert’s living quarters were the same open plan as the ground floor with areas sectioned off by rice paper screens and parachute-tents made of extravagant fabrics.

Robert opened the fridge in the kitchen area and peered inside. “Let’s see. Yes! Perfect.” He pulled out a plastic container and took it to the microwave. In a couple of minutes, he dumped the contents onto a plate and brought it to the breakfast bar. He set the plate of pasta alla Toscana in front of Tom along with a fork. “Don’t wait for me,” he said.

Tom dug into the angel hair pasta and roasted cherry tomatoes. “Tasty,” he said after several bites.

“Thanks. I made it myself. It’s a pretty simple recipe, but I like to think I bring something special to it. I use a little fennel in my soffritto. That gives it a—” Robert stopped talking when he saw the glazed look on Tom’s face. “I guess that answers your question about how much gayer I could be.”

Tom was surprised into a laugh and some pasta ended up on his shirt.

Robert handed him a napkin and watched him deal with the mess. “No doubt about it,” he said.

Tom looked up. “What?”

“The camera’s going to love you.”

“What camera?” Tom’s gaze was wary again. “I swear, if you brought me here to make porn—” He stopped when he realized he couldn’t think of a credible threat.

“No!” Robert waved his hands. “No porn. There’s no porn made here. Not now. Not ever. Well… do home movies count?”

Tom picked up the fork again. “Okay.”

Robert breathed a sigh of relief. “Would you like something to drink?

“You got beer?”

Robert opened a bottle and set it next to Tom’s plate.

“You’re not going to card me?”

“I’m not what you’d call a by-the-book kind of guy.”

Tom took a long drink of the cold beer. “Nice.” He looked at the label, which featured a snarling tiger. “Never heard of it. So, when are you going to call the police and ask about Harrison?”

Robert looked at his watch. “We should give it another half hour at least.”

“So, we have time to kill. Tell me about this job you say you have for me.”

“There are actually two positions I think you’d be perfect for. One is a lot of hard work, but it’s glamorous. The other is a lot of hard work, but it’s not glamorous.”

“Which one pays more.”

“The glamorous one is the best bet for a quick payout, but you’d need luck.”

“If you work hard enough, you don’t need luck.”

“I think you’ll find that’s not always true, when you have more experience.”

Tom frowned. “I’m going to let that one slide because you have no idea what kind of experience I have, but seriously, I hate it when people make arrogant, facile pronouncements.”

Robert’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he said.

“Oh, are you impressed by my big vocabulary?”

“Well, that and the way you use it. Where did you go to school?”

“Irrelevant.” Tom finished the pasta and picked up the beer. “You were telling me about the jobs.”

“I need an assistant. Someone to chase down a bolt of fabric in Chinatown, research a print, copy a pattern, answer the phone when I don’t feel like it.”

“Bring you aspirin when you’re hungover?”

“I am _never_ hungover.” Robert’s tone said he was affronted by the very suggestion.

“Now that’s impressive. Go on.”

“The assistant job pays well enough and you’d have room and board, and an expense account, etcetera, but the other job… let’s say you’d be making four figures per hour, more if you’re in demand.” Robert smiled. “And I’ll make sure you’re in demand.”

“That’s even more impressive. I could save up quite a bit. Tell me more.”

“Well, I design casual-chic sports clothes for juniors, and I need a male model.”

Tom almost laughed. “That’s crazy. I’m no pretty-boy.”

“No, you’re not. You’re better than that. You’re perfect.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Of course, you don’t.” Robert paused before he spoke again. “Your beauty isn’t obvious, but… your soul is in your eyes. Those eyes staring up from a page in Vogue would make anyone stop and look at what’s being advertised.” Robert smiled. “After I dress you, pose you, and capture your image, everyone will see what I see.” He smiled again. “Even you.”

Tom face was the definition of dubious.

Robert tried again. “You are boy,” he said. “Essence of boy. Your face should be in the dictionary next to the word. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at explaining things.”

“I can prove it to you,” Robert said. “There’s enough time before I make the call, and we don’t even have to leave the building.”

“This is crazy.”

“Something tells me you’re no stranger to crazy. You might even like it a little.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know me enough to talk to me like that.”

“Noted. You’ll let me know when it becomes appropriate?”

Tom stared at him for a second before he said, “Sure.”

“Excellent. Now come back downstairs with me.”

“Okay, but why?”

“We’ve got time on our hands, so why not do a little work?”

“What kind of work?”

“I’m going to dress you up and take your picture. Cool?”

“Can I have another beer?”

“Why the hell not,” Robert said.


	7. Seven

It was almost midnight when Hiddleston checked in with Hugo. He called while cruising the block around the warehouse again. The door was sealed with crime scene tape. He didn’t see any police cars parked nearby, but for all he knew, the place was staked-out.

“Tell me something good,” Hugo said as he answered his phone.

“I wish I could, Boss.”

“What happened?”

“I questioned a couple of Billie Joe’s friends, but cops showed up before they told me anything.”

“I assume they won’t be telling anyone else either.”

“You assume correctly. I had to ditch my Glock. I’m going to miss that piece.”

“Do I have to tell you to stay on this until Billie Joe is no longer a worry?”

“Of course not. I clean up my own messes.”

Hugo paused before he answered. “It’s my mess too,” he said unexpectedly. “There’s a bonus in this for you. And I’ll buy you a new gun.”

Hiddleston smiled at the windshield. “I won’t let you down,” he said before he hung up. He could count on the bonus being a substantial amount. Hugo knew what he was buying, and how much it was worth. No one in their line of work raised an eyebrow at taking out a business rival, but if anyone got wind of how The Dandy had died, Hugo would be shunned. Even mobsters had lines they wouldn’t cross, as Hiddleston knew well.

Hiddleston set the phone in its charging cradle on the console. He tapped his fingers on the wheel as he thought about his next move. Neither of the boys he’d killed at the warehouse was the pretty blond one Hugo had his eye on. He was still alive and should be easier to find than Billie Joe. It seemed his best option, which is why he was in the neighborhood scoping the street corners. If Blondie was around, he’d most likely be in a youth shelter or on the stroll. Hiddleston’s money was on the latter.

Robert stopped fussing with the jacket lapels and stepped away from Tom. After using a few judiciously placed pins, the navy, burgundy, and gold-striped sports coat hung perfectly on Tom’s shoulders. It draped beautifully, nipped in at the waist, skimming his lean contours. The skinny trousers were navy gabardine; the gold T-shirt under the jacket was deceptively simple. The boots were Robert’s.

“Not everyone can wear ochre,” Robert said. “You have just enough red in your hair.”

“So gay.”

“It’s not like I can deny it. I take it you’re not? Gay?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“So many reasons.” Tom shrugged. “I’m bi, I guess.”

“You guess?” Robert chuckled as he moved toward Tom again, and Tom took a reflexive step back. “I was just going to—” Robert made a gesture of smoothing his hair. “Sorry, I forgot. No sudden movements.”

Tom ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Better?”

Robert smiled. The tousled hair added the crucial just-got-out-of-bed look that played so well in high fashion photography. “Exquisite. Now go stand over there.”

Tom did as he was told. “You like telling people what to do, huh?”

“I’m not sure that’s how I’d characterize it. I’d say I’m good at directing people.”

“Yeah, you would say that. Is this the way you want me?”

“Child, please.” Robert moved behind his favorite camera. “You are not allowed to use suggestive language with me.”

“Yet another order.”

“Get used to it. Modeling is all about taking orders.”

“I hate it already.”

“Good.” Robert smiled as he pointed at the lens. “Look right here and let your hostility out.” His smile widened to a grin when Tom scowled at the camera. “Excellent.”

Tom relaxed a little and did what he thought a model should do.

Robert left the camera and came over to Tom. “Is it okay to touch?” he asked before he directed Tom in a couple of poses. “You got it?”

Tom nodded and Robert returned to the camera. He took several more pictures before he decided he had enough images for his purposes.

“Can I get these clothes off now?” Tom asked.

“You don’t like them?”

“No, they’re cool, but some of the pins are jabbing me.”

Robert chuckled. “That’s why models get the big bucks.”

“Can you call the cops now?” Tom said, after the pins were removed.

Robert took out his phone and, after several brief conversations, was routed to someone who allegedly could answer his question.

“Detective Reynolds here; how may I serve and protect you today?”

“I was directed to you for information on Harrison Osterfield. He’s missing and I’m afraid he might be in a hospital or in custody.”

“What’s your interest here, Mister—?"

“I’m sorry. I’m Robert Downey, Officer Reynolds, and I’m a friend of Mr. Osterfield’s.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

Ryan cleared his throat. “All I can tell you, Mr. Downey, is that Mr. Osterfield is not in police custody at this time, but we _are_ looking for him in connection with a double homicide that occurred earlier today. If you have knowledge of his whereabouts, you should report it immediately.”

“That sounded like you read it from a teleprompter.”

“I do my best. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“Not if it will help find Harrison.”

“I’d like to do this face-to-face.”

“I’ll look at my schedule and call you back.”

“You do that. By the way, do you drive an Audi?”

Robert hung up. “That was rude,” he said under his breath, whether he meant the cop or himself was up for debate.

“What’s wrong? You’re looking at your phone like it’s got crabs.”

“Your friend isn’t in custody. I’ll check the hospitals.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Robert went to his laptop and sat down. He began typing rapidly.

“You good with computers?” Tom asked as he looked over Robert’s shoulder at a display of code that meant nothing to him.

“Pretty good. Not as good as some but better than others.” Robert looked up at Tom. “Are you starting to like me a little?”

“Negative.”

“Don’t worry. You will.” Robert went back to typing. “This will take a couple of minutes. Feel free to roam about.”

Tom passed the time looking at the art on the walls. Most of it was photography, stunning images of varied landscapes. All of them bore Robert’s signature. Tom thought it was kind of conceited to hang your own art, but then again, the photos were epic. Looked like Robert had traveled to a lot of beautiful, faraway places.

“I can’t find anything,” Robert announced. “What’s our next move?”

Tom was now looking out the picture window at the car that had pulled up at the curb. “Looks like we’re talking to the cops. They’re here.”

“Hide, if you want, and I’ll talk to them.”

Tom went upstairs, and Robert went to answer the door.

Ryan and Scarlett had their badges out when the door opened. Both wore their most charming smiles. Ryan spoke, instead of letting Scarlett do the talking, as was their custom.

“Mr. Downey?”

“I am he.”

Ryan cocked his head like a dog hearing an unfamiliar noise. “Good. I’m Detective Reynolds; this is Detective Johansson, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“I’m afraid you’ve wasted a trip. I don’t have time to speak with you right now.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes.” Having made the assumption Robert was gay, Ryan deployed his dimples. “May we come in?”

“You may not. I’m working,” Robert said a bit primly. “I’ll be happy to speak with you tomorrow morning.”

“Promise?” Ryan stopped just shy of flirting. “It’s pretty important. We’re working a double homicide.”

“That’s… that’s terrible.” Robert glanced over his shoulder. “I have to get back to work. My models get paid by the hour.”

“You a painter? Photographer?” Ryan asked, as if he hadn’t googled Robert right after he’d hung up.

Downey was what Ryan considered a dilettante, flitting from one field to another like a butterfly that just couldn’t seem to find a flower that suited it. However, Downey was _connected_ on the right side of the law. His dad was a genuine captain of finance who was rumored to own several senators as well a police commissioner or two, and his one-time fiancée was the Assistant District Attorney. His business partner, Jon Favreau, was the former Deputy Mayor turned restauranteur. Ryan intended to be polite—because he was smart—but he wasn’t going to cut any slack.

“I’m a designer by nature and occupation,” Robert said.

“I _knew_ I knew your name,” Scarlett said. “The mini-trench was your idea.”

“More of a fad than a fashion, but I refuse to disown it.”

Scarlett smiled. “They were cute. My nieces were crazy about those jackets.”

“How kind of you to say.” Robert hesitated. “I really must go. You have my word I’ll answer your questions tomorrow morning.”

Ryan and Scarlett exchanged a glance. “Fine,” Ryan said. “If we don’t hear from you, we’re going to come back.”

“You’d be most welcome.” Robert paused again. “In fact, I’d prefer if we spoke here.”

“Is eight too early?” Ryan asked.

“I’ll be waiting.” Robert watched the detectives get in their nondescript sedan before he shut the door. He went upstairs and found Tom waiting impatiently. “They’ll be back in the morning,” he said. “You have tonight to decide what you want to do.”

“Did they say anything about Harrison?”

Robert had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to lie to Tom, though he was certain Tom was lying to him. “They’re homicide detectives. Two people were murdered in the warehouse. They didn’t give me names.”

“Harrison isn’t dead,” Tom said quickly.

“Okay.” Robert didn’t argue. “It’s after eleven. I suggest we get some sleep. In the morning, I’ll speak with the police. Maybe by then, they’ll know more.” Robert paused. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to put one of my suits on Detective Reynolds. He’s even sexier close up.”

Tom shrugged. “If you say so,” he said with unconvincing disinterest.

“You no longer find him hot?”

“I’m just really worried about Harrison. He’s sick.”

“Of course.” Robert paused. “How sick is he? I mean, could he have walked out under his own power?”

“He wouldn’t be moving quickly, but yeah, I think so.” Tom looked up at Robert. “I assumed he was in there, passed out, because he didn’t answer— Shit! Let me use your phone.”

Robert handed Tom his phone. Tom punched in his number and listened to it ring. A wave of relief made his knees weak when Harrison answered.

“Tommy?”

“Oh my god! Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m not feeling too good, but I’m still mobile. Kind of like the walking dead.” Harrison paused long enough to make Tom worry.

“Are you okay?”

“Shit got real at the warehouse.”

“I know. Are you okay?”

“I feel sick, Tommy.”

“I’m coming to get you,” Tom said immediately.

“Awesome. I’ll be behind that Jamaican chicken place. You know the one.” Harrison waited for a pang of nausea to pass. “Hurry, Tommy. I feel awful.”

“Hang tight. I’m on my way.” Tom hung up and gave Robert his phone.

“Where are we going?” Robert asked.

“You drive. I’ll navigate.”

Hiddleston was ready to give up the hunt for the night. He turned the big vehicle east, eyelids drooping, exhausted and anticipating his soft bed, weighted comforter, and thick curtains. If a jaywalking pedestrian hadn’t shouted at him, he would have missed his quarry entirely.

Greatly resembling a young Apollo after an epic binge, Harrison staggered to a halt against a lamp post on the opposite corner. He clung to the support and peered at the cars easing past on the street known as the Chicken Strip. Hiddleston read the desperation in the boy’s face and made a U-turn as soon as he could. On the way back, he prayed no one had picked the kid up yet. He was relieved to see him still leaning on the post as he pulled to the curb.

Hiddleston rolled down his window. “It’s a nice night for it,” he said.

Harrison came closer to the expensive SUV. “Sure is,” he said weakly. “You need a date?”

“You want to party?” Hiddleston completed the litany. “Hop in.”

Harrison looked indecisive for a split-second. Something wasn’t quite right about the situation, but he needed to score so badly. The bump The Dandy had given him had worn off, but he didn’t have any cash and nothing to sell but himself. A quick blowjob while they circled the block in the comfort of the luxury car and he’d have enough for a short pop. He’d be back at the Jamaican joint before Tom even found a ride to the waterfront.

“Twenty for a handjob. Fifty gets you head. For a Franklin, you can stick your finger up my butt while I blow you.”

Hiddleston held up two one hundred-dollar bills. “What will this get me?”

“The best ride of your life.”

Hiddleston smiled and popped the door locks.

Harrison hurried around and got in the passenger side. “This is my lucky night,” he said.


	8. Eight

Thirty or so minutes later, Robert parked the Audi near a takeout-only jerked-chicken shack, and he and Tom got out. An hour or so later, they admitted Harrison wasn’t in the area and no one at the Jamaican joint had seen him. Tom tried calling his phone until it was obvious no one was going to answer.

“Come on,” Robert said kindly. “Let’s go. It’s almost two in the morning, and I have company coming at eight.”

Tom capitulated, but he was sullen during the ride back. He was flat and uncommunicative when Robert showed him the guest bedroom and bath. When Robert left, saying good night, Tom didn’t respond. Robert figured the kid had succumbed to sensory overload and left him alone.

Despite the need for a good night’s rest, Robert fetched his camera and downloaded the card to his PC. He was more than happy with the test shoot. His knack for knowing what was eye-pleasing had not failed him. It wouldn’t be difficult to make good on his boast to turn Tom into a success. All of the elements were there. All it needed was a nudge in the right direction to snowball. And Robert had a design for that.

He was tweaking the shadows in one of the photographs when the front bell rang. A quick glance at his watch showed him it was seven fifty-eight in the a.m. He left Tom to sleep and went downstairs to let the law in.

Harrison woke and tried to sit up. He quickly realized he was lying on his back, strapped to a cot.

“Relax,” Hiddleston said. “You can’t free yourself. No point in wasting your energy.”

“Who are you?”

“A better question might be, _what are you going to do with me_?”

Harrison’s gaze sharpened. “What’s going on?”

“I need to find your friend—the feisty one who’s too smart for his own good.”

“Tommy?”

“If you say so. He called himself Billy Joe. Where can I find him?”

“Fuck you.”

“That might be a feature of our time together, but let’s try to avoid actual rape if we can. While it can be an effective tool of interrogation, I feel it’s somewhat beneath me.” Hiddleston gazed down at Harrison. “Even in your current state, you’re a true beauty. That’s just an observation. Blonds do nothing for me. Too bland. Give me a redhead every time.”

“I wouldn’t tell you where Tom was even if I knew.”

“You say that now, but I haven’t even started persuading you.”

Hiddleston dove a hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a small, brown pill bottle. He shook it and the tablets inside rattled like fingerbones.

Harrison watched suspiciously as Hiddleston took off the cap and tapped a few white pills into his hand. “What are those?”

Hiddleston brought his hand closer to Harrison’s face. “You don’t recognize them?”

Harrison did. “They look like fours.”

“Indeed, they are. This is the best dust you can get, by the way. I paid premium, and I don’t like to pay full price, much less premium.” Hiddleston smiled. “But you’re worth it.”

Harrison licked his lips. The craving was much worse than it had been when it sent him out into the streets looking to score. Dilaudid wasn’t heroin but it did soften all the edges and blunt the need. It would keep him from getting sick until he could find Tom or a dealer.

Hiddleston took a pill between his thumb and forefinger. “Open wide,” he said in falsely cheerful tones. “Or would you rather I crush them for you? Come now. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know you want it.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I understand. I really do. I’d like a break myself, but my boss….” Hiddleston fetched an exaggerated sigh. “He’s not a patient man, and he’s really keen to talk to your mate.”

“Why?”

“That’s above your pay grade, darling.” Hiddleston paused. “What _is_ the going rate for bumfuckery these days?”

“Fuck you.”

Hiddleston slapped Harrison and two of the small pills went flying. “Now look what you’ve made me do.” He bent and reached under the cot for one of the pills.

Harrison threw himself sideways and managed to bump Hiddleston’s leg.

Hiddleston looked down and smiled. “That’s adorable.” He struck on the last syllable, grabbing Harrison by the jaw. He dug his fingers into the hinges until Harrison was forced to open his mouth. Hiddleston dropped the pill in and let go.

“If you spit it out, I’ll put it up your bumhole. And it won’t be alone, if you take my meaning.”

Harrison swallowed, telling himself he had no choice.

“Very good.” Hiddleston picked up the other pill. “One more.”

“That’s kind of a big dose.”

“Oh please.” Hiddleston shook his head. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a junkie. This is baby aspirin to you.”

Harrison swallowed the second pill.

Hiddleston crossed the small, bare room to a molded plastic chair. He dragged it back and set it near the cot. After pulling the gun from his shoulder holster, he sat with the pistol in his lap.

“What shall we talk about it?” he said. “I know, let’s talk about your mate Tom.”

“Can I have some water? The pills are kind of sticking in my throat.”

Hiddleston got up and crossed the room again. He took a bottle of water from an overnight bag and brought it back. After unscrewing the cap, he held it to Harrison’s lips.

“Thanks,” Harrison said after gulping half the water.

“I’m glad we can be civil.” Hiddleston set the bottle on the floor. “How are you feeling now?”

Harrison was feeling the first streamers of the drug in his system. Soon they’d unfurl and cocoon him in soft layers and nothing would hurt. That would be nice. He just wished Tommy was here. Everything was better when Tommy was with him.

“Hello?” Hiddleston said.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Were you thinking about where Tom might be?”

A slow, dreamy smile drifted across Harrison’s face. “I wish he was here.”

“Not half as much as I do.”

“He’s so good.”

Hiddleston cocked his head. “Is he really? What makes you say that?”

“He takes care of me.”

“Well, that would make you biased, wouldn’t it? Do you mean he scores your drugs for you and keeps you from getting raped while you’re high?”

“Yeah, he does that.” Harrison yawned in slow motion. “He lets me sleep with him.”

“I see. He scores for you and then you let him score.”

Harrison frowned. “It’s not… like that. We’re brothers.”

Hiddleston was getting impatient, but he was also fascinated. He’d liked Tom’s fire from the first, liked the way he hadn’t backed down from Hugo, and he liked the resourcefulness he was showing in avoiding capture. He could afford to be entertained by it; he was confident Tom or Billy Joe or whatever his name was would be in his hands by the end of the day.

Hiddleston paused his train of thought as he saw the end of the line clearly. It was not what he had assumed, and he realized he had a very big decision to make contingent on developments he could not have foreseen. It was more imperative than ever that he find the kid first.

“So, you’re like brothers, you say?” Hiddleston prompted. “Then where is he now when you’re in such big trouble?”

“He’ll come for me. He has to go away sometimes, but he always comes back to me.”

“That’s touching, cloyingly so.”

“He’ll come back for me.” Harrison’s voice was drowsy but sure.

“How will he find you?”

“He can call me.”

Hiddleston cursed under his breath at the oversight of not searching his captive. Quickly, he went through Harrison’s clothing until he found the phone. He smiled at it. Now, all he had to do was wait for his quarry to call, which he was certain would be sooner rather than later.

Hiddleston checked in with Hugo and assured him he was getting close to sealing the deal. He didn’t mention Harrison or the phone. All Hugo needed to know was that the job was getting done. Later, when he had secured Tom, he could decide whether he wanted to give Harrison to his boss as a sweetener.

Yes, he had some big decisions to make. And right now, he had leisure time to think.

“Please, come in.” Robert stood aside and gestured grandly for the detectives to enter. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll put some coffee on.” He glanced at the logo on the paper cups in their hands. “And I believe you’ll find it a much tastier brew.”

Ryan gave Scarlett an eyebrow and she gave him a subtle eyeroll. As suspected, they had a _connoisseur_ on their hands. Fine and dandy, they knew how to handle the artsy-fartsy ones.

“Please, sit.” Robert waved to the dining table in the corner of the downstairs kitchenette. He went to the counter and got the coffee started. He took down a Tupperware tub of assorted Danish pastries and set them out. After he fetched cups from a shelf, he stacked the Danish on a platter, put everything on a tray and carried it to the table. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black is fine,” Scarlett said.

Robert set cups in front of the detectives and then took a seat across from them. “How can I help you?” he said before he took a sip of his coffee.

“First,” Ryan said. “We know you called 911 about the warehouse.”

“I’m not denying it.”

“You didn’t volunteer the information either,” Scarlett said mildly.

“You’re protecting someone,” Ryan said sharply. “And it’s not yourself, is it, Mr. Downey?”

“That escalated quickly,” Robert said. “What exactly am I being accused of?”

Scarlett raised a perfectly shaped, fox-colored eyebrow. “Being a Good Samaritan?”

“We’re not looking to bust you,” Ryan added. “We’re after a killer.”

“Yesterday, you mentioned some kids in the warehouse.”

“You don’t look like you shock easily, so I’ll tell you both boys were shot at close range in the back of the head. Like a, you know, a mob hit man who wants to make a point.”

Robert nodded. “At the risk of sounding less than impressed by the gravity of the situation, all I know about the mob is what I learned from The Godfather movies and Law and Order.”

“That’s fine,” Ryan said. “Now, we’d really appreciate it if you’d tell us anything you know about the warehouse. For instance, what compelled you to make that call?”

“I have a question first.”

“Shoot,” Ryan said.

“I’d like to know the names of the young men who were killed.”

“That’s right. You said you were worried about a—” Ryan pretended to check his notes. “A Harrison Osterfield?”

“Was he one of the… victims?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that until we contact the next of kin.”

“Good luck with that,” Tom said as he moved from behind the partition wall, dressed in his worn jeans and ripped T-shirt.

“Well, well.” Ryan gave Tom a visual once-over. If this kid wasn’t a recent tenant of The Dandy’s warehouse, Ryan would be greatly surprised. He gave the punk an unfriendly look before he turned back to Robert. “So, this is who you’re covering for.”

“I asked for his help,” Tom said. “He’s not involved in this shit in any way.”

“He is now,” Ryan said.

“There’s coffee,” Robert said to Tom. “Cups are on the shelf over the microwave.”

“I’m Detective Reynolds. This is Detective Johansson,” Ryan said when Tom sat down. “And you are?”

Tom gave Ryan a hostile stare over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I think it would be best to be truthful with the officers,” Robert said gently.

“If you know anything about the murders, we’d appreciate hearing it,” Scarlett said.

“How about starting with your name?” Ryan added.

“Tom Holland.”

“Okay, and you’re what? Fourteen? Fifteen? Sixteen maybe?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ryan said. “But that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“The point is, you don’t need to get my parents’ permission to talk to me. I’ve been an emancipated minor since I was sixteen anyway.”

“Any special reason you took that route?” Ryan asked with genuine curiosity.

“Any special reason you’re asking?”

“I did the same thing when I turned sixteen.” Ryan ignored Scarlett’s look of surprise. “Quit school and got a job.”

“So?” Tom said sarcastically. “You think that means we have bond or something? That I’ll just open up now and tell you anything you want to know?”

“You’re too young to be that cynical,” Robert chided him. “Have a Danish.”

Tom took an apricot Danish and bit into it. He chewed and swallowed. “Okay. My friend Harrison owes a lot of money to a very bad man. Yesterday, I saw a… an associate of this man going into the warehouse Mr. Downey called about. This associate isn’t known for being sympathetic. I assumed he was there to beat some money out of Harrison, so I called for help. Mr. Downey called 911 for me because I didn’t think they’d take me seriously.”

“That’s a nice story,” Ryan said. “However—”

Scarlett cut him off. “What did the man look like?” she asked.

“He’s tall,” Tom said promptly. “As tall as your partner, but not so well-built. I mean, he’s kind of skinny. His hair is black, but I think it’s dyed. His eyes are blue, like _ice_ blue.”

“Scars? Moles?” Scarlett prompted.

“No, he has really nice skin, no mustache or beard. His hair is long, by the way. Combed back from his forehead.” Tom paused, picturing Hiddleston. “He has an earring in his left ear, and he was wearing a three-piece suit.” He paused again. “And he has an English accent.”

“Those are great details,” Scarlett said. She turned to Robert. “Anything to add?”

“Not really. I took the call and did as Tom asked. He sounded very worried.”

“Did you pick him up at the warehouse?” Ryan asked.

Robert only hesitated for a second. “I did. I believed he was in danger.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“Why is that important?” Robert asked.

Ryan shrugged and gave the official response. “Just trying to build a more detailed picture.”

“Tom works for me,” Robert said. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t quite a lie either.

“Is that so?” Ryan remarked.

“Yeah,” Tom said, relishing the thought of the cops’ surprise. “I’m a model.”

Ryan glanced at Scarlett. She shrugged. The kid was wearing a torn Disney T-shirt, ripped jeans, and ratty sneakers but wasn’t that how off-duty models dressed? As if they were so beautiful that it didn’t matter what they wore?

“I don’t mean to be insulting or disrespectful.” Ryan smirked. “But you look more like a hustler to me.” He sat back in his chair and ran his gaze over Tom. “Oh yeah, I can picture you on a street corner, right under the light so the chicken hawks can see how young you look. You can probably pass for thirteen at night. And that’s what most of them want, isn’t it? The younger, the better.”

“Ryan.” Scarlett put a hand on his arm. “They’re being cooperative. No need to badger anyone.” She smiled apologetically at Tom. “He gets like this when he’s on the hunt.”

“Relax. I’m not going to sue anyone,” Tom said.

Robert and Ryan laughed at the same time, looked at one another, and looked quickly away.

“Is there more you can tell us, Tom?” Scarlett asked in the sudden silence.

“Sure, just as soon as you tell me—us what happened to Harrison.”

“He wasn’t one of the victims,” Scarlett said. “We have their names. Terrenz Connelly and Arnold Knott.” She pretended not to see Ryan’s glare.

“I didn’t know Noldo’s real name was Arnold.” Tom looked down at the remains of his Danish, as all his fears for Harrison rushed to the forefront of his mind. 

“So, you’re a model,” Ryan drawled. “But you know a lot of hustlers.”

Tom scowled at Ryan, angry with himself for the slip-up. Dammit, Harrison. Then he remembered that two people he saw every day were dead and his expression softened again. “Noldo was a sweet guy. He was always telling the younger kids to go to a shelter. He’d chase them away from our corner.” He paused. “How did he die?”

“It was quick,” Scarlett said before Ryan could speak. “One shot in the back of the head. They were dead instantly.”

“Good,” Tom said. “I mean, it’s good he didn’t suffer.”

“What about Connelly?” Ryan said wryly.

“He was a tool, always raiding your stash, ratting people out to Dandy, and sucking up. I was going to have a talk with him when this shit happened.”

“Would you have any idea where Andy Serkis is?” Scarlett asked. “We’ve been looking for him.”

“I haven’t seen him since about eight yesterday evening when I left the warehouse,” Tom lied. “He usually spends Wednesday nights at the Pluto. He likes the drag beauty pageant.”

“Okay, just to recap,” Ryan said. “Your story is that a drug dealer’s muscle went into the warehouse to lean on your friend and ended up shooting two random people?”

“Not random,” Tom said. “The guy probably asked them where Harrison was and didn’t like the answer he got.”

Ryan looked at Scarlett and shook his head.

“The thing is,” Scarlett said. “Guys like that don’t usually off people quite so casually. Sure, they’ll break a thumb here and there or sucker punch a mark in the kidney, but they’re not big on leaving bodies lying around. It’s just not good for business. So, you can see why Detective Reynolds is skeptical.”

“He’s suspicious because he’s a cop,” Tom said.

“Actually, I’m like this because I got tired of being fucked over.”

Tom met Ryan’s eyes for a long moment. “Yeah, that sucks for sure.”

Robert cleared his throat. “Well, detectives, if that’s all…?”

“Yes,” Scarlett said as she got to her feet. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“We’ll probably need to talk to you again when we find this mysterious guy,” Ryan added.

Tom thought hard as the detectives moved toward the front door. “One more thing,” he said. “The man said his name was Hiddleston.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Ryan asked.

“Because I didn’t think he gave me his real name. I sure as fuck didn’t give him mine.”

“Smart,” Ryan said before he caught himself. “But you should have told us you talked to him.” He waited but Tom didn’t answer. “Okay. Thanks. Let’s go, Scar.”

Scarlett smiled at Robert and Tom. “Thanks for your help,” she said before she followed Ryan.

Robert gave Tom a long look. “Are you sure you told them everything you know?”

“Do you have anything to eat besides sugar and caffeine?”

“Of course. If you’ll get my laptop from the desk, I’ll get started on an omelet.”

While they ate the jumbo omelet, Robert showed Tom the best of the photos he’d taken the night before. Tom was suitably impressed by the transformation Robert had wrought.

“I can’t believe that’s me. I look rich… and vaguely hottish.”

“You don’t think you’re good-looking?”

“I’m not a toad.” Tom shrugged.

“No, you certainly are not.”

“This reminds me of Vikki.”

“How so?”

“She was this girl who went around with us last winter. She was eighteen, but she was really small and looked a lot younger. Her hair was the same color as Detective Johansson’s and she had a lot of freckles. She looked really plain to be honest. But if she put on makeup and fixed her hair, she looked like a model. I liked her better without the makeup.”

“All I did was light you correctly.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Will you take the job? Since I already told the police you work for me? You wouldn’t want me to get arrested for lying to an officer, would you?”

“I have to find Harrison first.”

“Of course.” Robert nodded. “Would you like to try calling him again?”

Tom took Robert’s phone and tried his number again. It was answered on the second ring.

“Harrison?”

“I’m afraid he can’t come to the phone right now.”

Tom recognized the voice. “Hiddles?”

Hiddleston held the phone away from his mouth until he had himself under control. “Never call me that again,” he said coolly.

“Is Harrison all right?”

“For now. I managed to score some Dilaudid. That should hold him for a bit. Now let’s talk about what I want.”

“Go ahead.” Tom ignored Robert’s frantic attempts to get his attention and concentrated on Hiddleston’s words.

“Let’s not play games. You know you saw something you shouldn’t have. I need to make sure you don’t tell anyone what you saw. The surest way I know to do that is to kill you, but I’m willing to entertain alternative suggestions.” Hiddleston paused. “If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to take your mate Harrison to my boss.”

“Don’t do that.”

“You’d prefer to take his place?”

Tom met Robert’s eyes, steadied himself, and answered Hiddleston. “You think you know me?” he said. “You think I care about him? He’s my competition, man.”

“You’re good,” Hiddleston said. “But Harrison’s told me quite a lot about you. It’s amazing how amenable one becomes under the influence of an opioid.”

Tom’s heart sank but he continued to tough it out. “What is it you think I can do about this situation?”

“Unless you can convince me you won’t talk, I’m afraid a trade is the only viable solution.”

“Where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be here long. Is this a good number to reach you at?”

“Sure,” Tom said.

“I’ll call you later and we’ll arrange to meet.”

“Is Harrison really all right?”

“He’s as glazed as an American doughnut, but he’s not in any pain as long as the Dilaudid holds out.” Hiddleston paused again. “He’s very pretty, your friend.”

“Duh.”

Hiddleston chuckled. “I like you, Tommy. It’s a pity I have to kill you.”

Tom hung up.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Robert said.

“How could you tell?”

“You turned so pale your freckles looked like blood splatter. What did he want?”

“Me.”

“Why? I thought your friend was the one who owed money.” Robert sounded exasperated. “Tell him you’ve got the money. How much is it?”

“Three grand.”

“We can go the bank right now and get it.” Robert paused. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re not going to be satisfied with just money.”

“Well, what the hell do they want? If I can get it for you, I will.”

“I told you.” Tom’s smile was ages too old for his face. “They want me.”

“This isn’t making sense to me anymore.” Robert went to the counter and filled his coffee cup.

“You don’t need to be involved.”

“Sure, I do. To put it in terms you’re probably used to— You have something I want, so it’s to my advantage to take care of you.”

“Well-played,” Tom said. “Any chance of a shower?”

“There’s a bath in the guest room. Feel free to use anything in there.”

“Thanks.” Tom paused. “For everything.”

Before Robert could answer, Tom walked away toward the elevator. As soon as Tom was gone, Robert picked up his phone and called an old friend.


	9. Nine

A couple of fruitless hours later, Ryan and Scarlett took a break from their search of the area around the warehouse and met at the car. Once they were rolling, Scarlett looked at Serkis’s mugshot on her phone again.

“I just can’t believe no one has noticed a man who looks like this.”

“No shit.” Ryan blasted through a yellow light. “Got any ideas on who to talk to next?”

She shook her head, her short, strawberry-blonde hair floating around her head. “We’ve pretty much exhausted our list of possibles. We’ve knocked on every door in the neighborhood. This guy is a ghost.”

“Anything on this Hiddlywiddly character?”

“Hiddleston. We got a few hits, but nothing in this area code. Stanley Hiddleston lives upstate. He’s a plumber. Sixty-two. I’ll ask the computer jocks to throw a wider net.”

Ryan drove with no clear destination in mind while Scarlett talked on the phone. “You know? I’d like to talk to that kid again,” he said when she hung up.

“Tom?”

Ryan gave her the “who else?” look.

“You don’t think he told us all he knows?”

“Of course, he didn’t.” Ryan made a scoffing noise. “Lying is a habit when you’re on the street. So is squirreling things away in case you need them later.”

“I’m starting to get a ‘I don’t know you at all’ vibe again. Is it possible you edited your history for me?”

“Everyone does that.”

“I don’t.”

“Really? There’s nothing in your past you’d like to keep hidden?”

“There are one or two things I’m not proud of, but I own them.”

Ryan made the scoffing noise again. “How about we don’t have this conversation right now?”

“Suits me, partner.” Scarlett paused. “As long as you understand we’re going to keep having it until you open up.”

“That’s a big ten-four,” Ryan said. “Now, do some of that navigator shit.”

“I’ve got your six,” Scarlett replied. “If you really feel like you need to talk to Tom again, I suggest you do that. Your woman’s intuition has always been stronger than mine.”

“At least our periods are in sync now.”

Scarlett laughed and then grabbed the Jesus handle as Ryan spotted a clearing in oncoming traffic and snapped off a tire-squealing U-turn. “Life with you is like Coney Island every day.”

“You’re welcome.” Ryan’s eyes flicked to her phone. “What else do we know, if anything, about young Mr. Holland?’

“Just what I told you already. He doesn’t have a record. Not a one.”

“No record of birth?”

“Same answer as the last time you asked. No records. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero.” She shook her head again. “How is that possible?”

“Well, just off the top of my head… his parents live on a hippie commune in Idaho, and he was born there, home-schooled. And then one day, he takes off to the big city.”

“I could see that, but he doesn’t strike me as a farm boy.”

“No, not really.” Ryan made a right-hand turn. “There’s something off about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but when we were talking to him, I got this feeling. It’s hard to explain.”

“You mean the feeling that you were watching a performance?”

“That’s close.” Ryan nodded. “Who are you, Tom Holland?” he asked the windshield.

“And where the hell is Andy Serkis?” Scarlett’s phone vibrated and she checked her messages. “Well, well, hello handsome.”

“What is it?”

“Thomas William Hiddleston, thirty-four years of age, born in Westminster, London. Family immigrated when he was ten. He’s definitely got a record.”

“Tell me more.”

“He’s a bad, bad boy. Assault. Aggravated assault. Manslaughter charge dismissed. No prison time. He’s got some good grease.”

“Clearly.” Ryan went around two vans and pulled back into the right lane. “Do we know who he works for? Or is he free-lance?”

“Gimme a minute.” Scarlett scrolled. “He’s suspected of being the go-to mechanic for the east side organization. No proof, but at least eleven hits are being attributed. Some medium-heavy hitters on that list.”

“Why is a guy like that hassling a junkie whore?”

“Easy, big fella. How about a little human compassion?”

“It was all squeezed out of me years ago. I’m basically a rolled-up toothpaste tube.”

Scarlett chuckled. “Don’t bullshit me. I live in your pocket. You’ve got a marshmallow center.”

Ryan took his eyes off the road to stare at her.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have a marshmallow center. There’s nothing soft about you at all. That’s your problem.”

“No, that’s my strength.”

Scarlett shook her head. “You better get a clue before it’s too late,” she said.

“Regarding?”

“How to act like a goddam human being.”

“Overrated,” Ryan said, as he turned down Robert’s street.

Robert’s phone rang. “This is Robert,” he answered.

“Where’s Billie Joe?”

For just a second, Robert was mystified, but he figured it out quickly. “I’ll get him for you.” Robert put a hand over the phone and called Tom’s name.

Tom hurried in, his hair still damp from the shower. He took the phone. “Where do you want to meet?” he asked.

“Listen carefully,” Hiddleston said.

Tom did as he was told. When Hiddleston stopped talking, Tom hung up and handed the phone back to Robert.

“What did he say?” Robert asked.

“He told me where to meet him.”

“I’m going with you, and you should call those detectives.”

“I should call them, but I can’t.” Tom bit his lip. “But I do need you to come with me. Someone will have to take care of Harrison.”

“This isn’t the deal I made.”

“I know, but it’s the one I made. Me for Harrison.”

“Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on here?”

“I don’t want your help but I need it, all right?”

“I’ll be in the car,” Robert said before he walked away.

“Fuck!” Ryan exclaimed as he saw the ass-end of the black Audi turn the corner at the end of the block. He put his foot down on the gas.

“Whoa, what the fuck,” Scarlett said calmly.

“That’s Downey’s car.”

“I don’t see a car.”

“It just went around the corner.”

“I assume we’re going to tail him?”

“Something just doesn’t add up here, and that bugs me.”

“Back off a little. He’s going to spot us.”

“Never happen,” Ryan said, but he eased up on the pedal.

The Audi made a right turn and Ryan followed, but when he looked down the street, he didn’t see the car.

“Where is it? Where is it?” he said under his breath.

“He had to have gone down an alley or parked.”

“That fast?”

She shrugged and kept clocking the parked vehicles and alley entrances. “I got nothin’.”

“Same.”

They reached the end of the block and looked left and right.

Ryan pounded the steering wheel. “Fuck! We lost ‘em.”

“Back it up and park. We need to search on foot.”

“Fuck,” Ryan repeated.

“You wait here,” Tom told Robert as he reached for the door handle. “Harrison will be out in a few minutes. Take care of him, please.”

“This is stupid.”

“Yeah, I know, but there’s nothing else I can do and still live with myself.”

“I understand, but I still think you ought to call the cops.”

“You can do that as soon as Harrison is free. Not a second sooner, okay?”

Tom got out of the car and walked across the empty warehouse floor. He glanced back to reassure himself the car couldn’t be seen from the street though the roll-up bay door remained open. As he faced forward again, he cleared his mind of everything but the problem at hand. He had no illusions that Hiddleston would play fair, but he clung to the irrational hope that he could save Harrison.

“This way.” Hiddleston’s voice came from a stairwell on the left.

Tom started up the metal steps.

“Keep coming,” Hiddleston said from somewhere overhead.

Tom reached the top and saw a catwalk above a row of containers. At the other end, Hiddleston waved his gun in greeting and gestured to Tom to keep walking. Unfazed by the height or the sway of the suspended scaffolding, Tom approached Hiddleston.

“Where’s Harrison?” he asked when he was about thirty feet away.

“Do you not see my gun? I’ll ask the questions.”

“Typical,” Tom said under his breath.

“Keep coming.”

“Why should I? For all know, you gave Harrison an overdose or shot him in the head like Noldo and Terri Z.”

“So, you do understand that guns can kill you, yes?”

“Maybe I don’t care if I die. Maybe I’ll jump off this thing if you don’t show me Harrison.”

Hiddleston looked down. “There’s a small chance you’d die, but my boss wants you dead, so….”

“You say that, but I think you’re lying. I mean, you could kill me from there, right? I’m just assuming you’re a good shot.”

Hiddleston smiled. It had been a long time since a genuine smile had stretched his lips, and it felt good. “Thank you for not disappointing me. Now, come here.”

“Not until I see Harrison.”

“Look, darling, you’ve made your point. I understand that you aren’t afraid to die. However, you wouldn’t want harm to come to pretty Mr. Osterfield, would you?”

“That’s not a threat unless I know he’s alive.”

“That’s true.” Hiddleston pursed his lips in thought. “I could take him to my boss and let you follow us. He won’t bargain with you though, believe me.”

“I believe you.” Tom gritted his teeth and pushed away the mental image of Hugo squatting over The Dandy’s gruesome remains. “What sort of bargain are we talking about?”

“Come closer.”

“Show me Harrison.”

Hiddleston turned his back on Tom. “I’m going,” he said. “I think you know where to find me… and Harrison.”

“Wait.” Tom came a few steps closer. “What do you want from me?”

“Your silence of course. Killing you would be the surest way to keep you from talking, but after giving it some thought, I think we can avoid such a terrible waste.”

“How?”

“Come closer. I’ll take you to Harrison and we’ll talk like civilized beings.”

“One of us will.”

Hiddleston smiled again. “Bravo,” he said softly.


	10. Ten

The first thing Tom saw when he entered the utility room was Harrison. He hurried over to where his friend was lying on a folding cot. Harrison was shivering despite his sweatshirt and the pallet blanket thrown over him. Tom knelt and put a hand on Harrison’s forehead.

“You’re going to be all right,” Tom said. “Just hang on, and I’ll get you out of here.”

Harrison’s gaze was vague. He whimpered but didn’t respond to Tom.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Hiddleston said.

Tom stood and faced Hiddleston. “You’ve got me, so let him go.”

“I could.” Hiddleston glanced at Harrison. “How far do you think he’d get in his condition?”

“He just needs to make it to the door.”

“So, you brought a friend along. That’s unfortunate.”

“Look, just keep your side of the deal. Let Harrison go.”

“Sure.”

Tom took out the phone Robert had given him and sent a pre-prepared text.

Hiddleston made a tsking sound. “I’ll have that, thank you.”

Tom handed over the phone without an argument. “Let me get Harrison down to the ground floor so my friend can take him out of here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. I’ll help you get him out of this room, but after that, he’s on his own.”

Tom gritted his teeth, but he knew the deal wasn’t going to get any better. “Fine.”

Between them, Tom and Hiddleston got Harrison on his feet and out the door. Tom put Harrison’s right hand on the catwalk railing and held his left for a moment.

“Listen, Harrison,” he said softly. “You have to walk across here and go down the stairs, okay? A friend of mine will be waiting for you.”

Harrison met Tom’s eyes and recognition stirred in the crystal blue depths. “Tommy.”

“Yeah, it’s Tom, man. Hold onto the rail and take a step, okay?”

Harrison did as Tom said. “You comin’?” he slurred.

“Not right now. You keep going. I’ll catch up.”

Harrison shuffled another step and then another.

“Impressive,” Hiddleston said. “I’d have bet quids he’d be on his face by now.”

“You do tend to underestimate people,” Tom answered.

“I like you more and more, Tommy.”

“Don’t call me that. It’s Billy Joe to you.”

“Why so unfair? You got what you wanted. Now, it’s my turn.”

“Let’s hear it then.”

Hiddleston whistled admiringly. “You’re just too cool,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. Look, if you’re going to kill me or turn me over to that psycho, stop stalling. You’re on my last nerve.”

“You really haven’t caught on?” Hiddleston gave Tom the encouraging smile one gives a precocious toddler reciting the ABCs. “I’m one up on you then.”

Tom frowned in thought. “No. It can’t be that simple.”

“You think I don’t have needs… wants?”

“I like to think of you as a machine. It makes you less horrible.”

“I could talk to you all day. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I was this entertained, this engaged. It feels simply marvelous.”

“Fuck me,” Tom said under his breath.

“Oh, we’ll get to that, never fear,” Hiddleston said. “But we have to get clear of this nonsense first. Are you with me?”

Tom took one more look at Harrison’s wobbly progress. What choice did he have at this moment? “All right.”

“Good.” Hiddleston smiled again. “I must say, this is quite the rush. I’d like to see Hugo’s face when he realizes what’s happened.”

“Abracadabra, your wish is granted,” Hugo said from behind Hiddleston. 

Hugo fired the gun in his hand and hit Hiddleston in the left shoulder. Hiddleston spun around, grabbing for the gun under his jacket, and Tom shoved him hard directly at Hugo. Hiddleston slammed into Hugo and the guns went off as both men hit the ground.

Tom glanced at Harrison and saw his friend had made it down the stairs. He leaped over the entangled Hiddleston and Hugo and ran in the opposite direction, intending to lead any pursuit away from his friends.

Behind Tom, Hugo got to his feet and glared down at Hiddleston. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you, Hiddles,” Hugo said. “I no longer find our relationship… adequate.” He fired the gun again and Hiddleston stopped moving. Hugo looked around as if he’d forgotten why he was here. After a moment, he ran after Tom.

“Harrison?” Robert came forward to help the young man down the last steps.

“Tommy’s friend?” Harrison leaned heavily on Robert.

“Yeah, that’s me. Where’s Tom?”

Harrison abruptly sagged and Robert had all he could do to keep him from hitting the floor. Robert pulled Harrison’s arm around his neck, put his arm around Harrison’s waist, and half-carried, half-dragged him to the car. It took several frustrating minutes to get the kid in the passenger seat and then he heard the gunshots. Robert didn’t hesitate. He took out his phone and called the number Detective Reynolds had given him.

“Mr. Downey!” Ryan answered cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“I just heard someone fire a gun. I’m… uh… not at home.”

“Let me save you some time. I’m probably less than a block away. What’s your exact location?”

Robert gave Ryan the address as he backed the Audi out the rollup door. He nearly ran into the unmarked car that skidded to a tire-screeching stop inches from his rear panel. Scarlett jumped out and Ryan backed up far enough for Robert to clear his bumper.

“Where?” Scarlett barked as she drew her thirty-eight.

Robert pointed inside. “I think I need to get this kid to a hospital,” he said.

“You do that,” Scarlett answered. “We got this. Reynolds! Move your fine ass!”

Ryan waved Robert on as he joined Scarlett. “You take this entrance,” he said. “I’m going around.”

“Suits me.” Scarlett moved out.

Ryan trotted around the corner of the building with his Sig Sauer in his hand. He broke into a run down the long side of the warehouse and stopped at the corner. He took a look down the street but didn’t see anyone moving around. He hurried down the sidewalk and spotted the back entrance just as the double doors flew open. Ryan almost smiled as Tom emerged onto the shallow loading dock and blinked in the light of day.

“Hey!” Ryan called out. “Over here.”

Tom spotted Ryan, bolted down the concrete ramp, and ran to him. He jumped when he heard gunshots and chips of brick flew off the wall beside him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hugo on the loading ramp, and then Ryan grabbed his wrist and yanked him down. More chips were blasted from the wall where Tom’s head had been. Tom didn’t protest when Ryan interposed himself. He stayed behind the tall detective as Ryan returned fire.

Hugo ducked back into the doorway and reloaded. He had no idea who was shooting at him, but he didn’t care. He was going to kill the interloper and then he was going to take his time with the so-called Billy Joe. With a new clip in his gun, Hugo opened the door and fired six blind shots in a semicircular pattern.

“Fucker knows gunplay,” Ryan said under his breath as Hugo ducked back again. “Kid?”

“Yo.”

“As much as I’d like to apprehend whoever this douche nozzle is, I’d rather we both stay alive. So, we’re going around the block to my car. You stay behind me. Got it?”

“Roger that.”

“Outstanding.”

A second later, Hugo began firing again. Ryan shoved Tom to the ground and covered him with his body. Abruptly the firing stopped, and Ryan looked up to see Hugo clutching his hip as he turned toward the door behind him. Ryan grinned when he saw Scarlett. The grin evaporated when Hugo and Scarlett fired at the same time, and Scarlett went down. Ryan started forward, but a Lincoln Town Car screamed to a stop at the loading dock with smoke boiling from the wheel wells. Four large men with automatic weapons popped out of the big car.

“It’s about fucking time!” Hugo raged at his men. “Get after them.”

Ryan pulled Tom around the corner and they sprinted down the block. Ryan didn’t dare think about Scarlett lying in a pool of blood. She was dead before she fell. He didn’t know what caliber the shooter was using, but the bullets had taken softball-sized chunks out of the stonework and Scarlett’s neck. Ryan shook off the gruesome image and pushed Tom around the next corner ahead of him. The car keys were already in his hand.

Ryan heard the popping of an automatic and a line of holes appeared in the car’s trunk. He was glad he didn’t have to explain anything to Tom. The kid was already in the passenger seat buckling up, slumping with his head below the line of window. Ryan turned the engine over, punched the gas, and dropped it into gear. The big motor roared and the sedan seemed to leap forward. Ryan took out two garbage cans and left a streak of paint on the alley wall as he gunned the car down the narrow lane.

“Officer down,” Ryan said into the radio. He reported the location, the situation, and his status before signing off.

The back windshield shattered, and Tom flinched as glass rained over him. And then they were at the end of the alley, and Ryan stomped the brakes as he wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right. The car pivoted, narrowly missing a food cart and an oncoming cab, as it slotted into a space that seemed much too small for it.

Tom looked back and saw two men with guns at the mouth of the alley. “They’ve stopped,” he said, and his voice sounded far away to him.

“You sure about that?” Ryan made the car jog left and took the next side street.

“I can’t see them anymore.”

Ryan took a breath. “Jesus.”

“I think I might throw up.” Tom paused. “No. I’m okay.”

“Good, because we’re not stopping until I’m sure we’re safe.”

“Shouldn’t you call your partner and let her know where you are?”

Ryan clenched his jaw. “She’s gone.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to talk about it until we’re safe.”

“Can I call Robert?”

“No.”

Tom glanced at Ryan and whatever he saw in the man’s face convinced him to be patient. He sat back, closed his eyes, and tried not to think.


	11. Eleven

Hugo looked around the small room and was satisfied by the fear in the eyes of the six soldiers who had failed him. When he was good and ready, he began to berate them.

“Six of you. A half dozen. All of you armed with automatic weapons and not one of you hit anything.”

“I hit the car, boss.”

“Did it stop?” Hugo asked with deceptive calm.

The thug belatedly realized he should have kept quiet. He shook his head without meeting Hugo’s eyes.

“The next person to speak had better have something useful to add.” Hugo looked around the room again. “Anyone?”

A man with a five o’clock shadow raised his hand as though he was in school. “I recognized the driver… sir.”

“Excellent, Adkins.” Hugo stared at the man.

Adkins cleared his throat. “He’s a homicide cop named Reynolds.”

“And what do you suppose he was doing at the warehouse? Don’t answer that. It was mere speculation.” Hugo thought for a few minutes while his men fidgeted nervously. “That means the woman I eliminated was most likely a cop as well. This is not good.”

“Cops get edgy when you kill one of ‘em.”

Hugo snatched up something small and heavy from the desk and hurled it at the sound of the voice. The prism paperweight struck a man in the forehead with an audible crunch of bone. The man fell off his chair with blood pouring from the wound. After a moment of utter shock, the man next to him got down on the floor.

“Is he dead, Dubcek?” Hugo asked.

“Yeah, boss. Dead as a mackerel.”

“Then sit back down. This meeting isn’t over yet.” Hugo didn’t glance at the dead man again. “I’m paying you well to look after my interests, but your efforts have been less than stellar. I expect to see an immediate improvement in your performance. Now, listen carefully.” He paused and looked at each man before he resumed speaking. “This cop, Reynolds, could cause trouble for me. Therefore, he must be eliminated. However, he is not your priority. You all remember The Dandy.” Hugo waited for a few nods before he continued. “One his filthy whores snooped where he shouldn’t have and saw something that could cause even more trouble than the cop. All you need to know is that I want the whore dead, by my own hand.” He had to stop and take a breath as a stray vision of Billy Joe’s face contorted in agony filled his head. “When you find him, you will not harm him. You will bring him to me. Is that understood?”

The five tough guys nodded meekly.

“Here’s something else to think about,” Hugo said. “While you’re hunting, I’ll be shadowing you. You won’t know I’m there, but I’ll be watching. I’m always watching.” He paused. “What the fuck are you waiting for?” he yelled abruptly.

The men couldn’t leave the room fast enough. They had no idea where to start looking, but they were motivated.

After the room cleared, Hugo took out his phone to call Hiddles and remembered he no longer had that luxury. With a sigh, he began going through his contacts looking for a cleaner. When that chore was done, he walked around the growing blood pool and left the temporary office. Amidst the roiling thoughts that occupied him as he walked to his car, he had another vision of another boy. A half-smile formed on his face as he indulged in a brief fantasy of the pretty blond The Dandy had promised him. Maybe that fantasy could still come true, and the gods knew he needed to blow off some steam.

Hugo took out his phone again and made another call.

When Tom opened his eyes again, the car wasn’t moving anymore. He looked out and saw Ryan pumping gas. He rolled down the window.

“I gotta pee.”

“Cross your legs. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll take you.”

While Tom went into the men’s room, Ryan stood outside the door and called his lieutenant. He waited impatiently while he was patched through.

“Evans,” Lieutenant Chris Evans answered crisply.

“I’ve got a situation here, boss.”

“It’s already on the grapevine about the shooting. I think it’s time to have another talk with Dispatch about loose lips.”

“I’m sure you’re right, sir.” Ryan swallowed. “Johansson went down. I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

Coming out of the men’s room, Tom froze a couple of feet away from Ryan.

“I’m sorry,” Evans said. “Truly sorry. Do I assume you’re in pursuit of the s.o.b. that did it?

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t like your tone. You don’t sound cocky and that worries me.”

“It’s complicated. Right now, I need to keep moving. I’d like to call you again as soon as I’m in a safe location.”

“Call my private line. I’ll have my phone on me. Look, Ryan, I can send backup.”

“Not yet. I need to get clear first. I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s not good.”

“You’re the one on the ground, so I’ll let you call the shots for now.”

“Thanks. I know that’s not easy for you.”

Evans snorted into the phone.

“One more thing before I hang up,” Ryan said. “Get hold of Robert Downey Junior. He can give you a few more details until I call again.” He put the phone in his pocket and turned to see Tom watching him. “All done?”

“Yeah. I need water though.”

“That’s the adrenaline. Makes you thirsty.” Ryan opened a cooler and took out two bottles of water. He paid for them and tossed one to Tom. “Let’s go, punk.”

Tom waited until they were back on the street before he spoke. “I’m not a punk.”

“Then why do you act like one?”

“Judgmental much?”

“Is it asking too much that you keep your cock holster shut for a few more minutes?”

Tom’s face went blank. “No, that’s not asking too much.” He closed his eyes again and did his best to tune out the world.

“Hey,” Ryan said, after the city limits were in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about the cock holster comment. That was over the line.” He cleared his throat. “I was upset, you know?”

Tom opened his eyes. “About your partner?”

“I haven’t— It just happened. I can’t talk about it yet.”

“Okay. Can we talk about where we’re going?”

“Sure. It’s a charming, rustic cottage with a lake view and some modern conveniences.”

“A cabin in the woods? You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“It’s just so cliché. Why are we doing this?”

“Because I trust my hunches. I could take you in to the station, but my gut tells me that would be a mistake. For some reason, which you’re going to make clear to me very soon, some bad guys are willing to gun down a cop in broad daylight to get to you. Every instinct I have is telling me to take you somewhere safe and have a little talk with you… alone.”

Tom gave Ryan the side-eye.

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s a threat,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, I caught that,” Tom said in the same sarcastic tone Ryan used.

“Look, as far as I’m concerned, something you did got my partner killed. I want to know what it was.” Ryan paused. “Shit! I missed the ramp.” He pulled to the shoulder and backed the car up. As he drove down the exit, he glanced over at Tom. “Something about you fucks with my brain,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

“Weird, because I think you’re an absolute delight.”

“Shut up.”

Several silent miles later, Ryan turned onto a gravel road marked by a wooden sign. It passed too quickly for Tom to read.

“Private property,” Ryan said.

The road forked and Ryan took the left-hand path. One lane pavement gave way to a dirt road with grass between the tire tracks. The interlaced branches of the roadside trees formed a green tunnel. They drove out of it into a broad cleared area on the shore of a small lake. The grass was overgrown but hadn’t become a jungle yet. Ryan drove around the chalet-style cabin and parked out of sight of the road.

“Go on in,” he told Tom. “I’m going to the shed to get the genny started.”

“Is there— Can I do anything to help you?”

Ryan looked at Tom over the roof of the car. It was a moment before he spoke again. “As a matter of fact, there is. I can handle the generator, but I happen to know Jeremy keeps a really good bottle of bourbon hidden somewhere in the kitchen. See if you can find it.”

“I’m on it.” Tom trotted toward the cabin.

“The key is in the frog,” Ryan called after him.

Tom shot Ryan a look over his shoulder and kept going. In the rock garden to the right of the front entrance was a dry ornamental pond. On the poured concrete lip of the fountain, nearly hidden by a birdbath was a cleverly painted pottery frog. Tom turned it over and heard a metallic clink. He shook the frog and key fell out of a hole in the butt end. It made Tom smile until he remembered his circumstances.

The key didn’t fit the front door, but it did fit the one on the side of the garage. Tom opened it and went inside, moving carefully through the dark. He was up on the kitchen counter when the light over the stove came on. He guessed Ryan had been successful with the generator and resumed feeling along the tops of the cabinets. Near the far end, his hand encountered something hard and smooth. He wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle and pulled it down. The label read Old Rip Van Winkle. Tom shrugged and set it on the counter.

Ryan walked in as Tom jumped to the floor. He eyed the bottle. “Nice work,” he said. He snagged the bourbon as he cruised past. “Follow me.”

Tom followed Ryan into the main area of the cabin. Couches and chairs were grouped in a circle around a free-standing metal fireplace shaped like a dragon. The ceiling went all the way up the peaked roof. A huge beam supported a wrought iron chandelier the size of a canoe that was shaped like bird of some kind. A loft area was divided into two bedrooms that could be closed off with curtains. It all spoke of the kind of wealth that didn’t need to announce itself.

“Sit.” Ryan pointed to a chair.

Tom sat on a different chair.

Ryan took two tumblers from a side cabinet and brought them over. He sat in a chair opposite Tom and poured two fingers in each glass. He passed one to Tom.

“I don’t care if you’re old enough to drink or not,” Ryan said. “Take a slug of that.”

Tom drank half the bourbon.

Ryan swallowed the entire shot and poured another. “Purely medicinal,” he said.

Tom shrugged. “You look like you can hold your liquor.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ryan fixed his amber gaze on Tom. “Now that we’ve bonded in the traditional manner of hetero males, you can tell me what the hell you’re hiding.” His phone rang and he looked at it in annoyance, but he answered. “You got something for me?”

“I do,” Evans said. “I talked to Captain Jackson, and he agreed I should look into this personally. I located Downey and spoke with him briefly. I’m meeting him in the morning. From the information he provided, it sounds like your shooter is Hugo Weaving. He’s an Aussie import who carved himself out a piece of the eastern turf. He’s been very low-key since the spate of hits that put him in business.”

“Wonder what made him suddenly go mad dog?” Ryan stared at Tom.

“I’m thinking you’re thinking you might know the answer to that.”

“I’m working on it, boss. Call you back.” Ryan hung up. “Hugo Weaving?” he said to Tom.

“Is that his name? The man who’s after me?”

“So it would appear. Who is he to you?”

“Nothing. No one. He rented me. Actually, he rented Harrison, but I took his place.”

“This guy’s into little boys?” Ryan’s tone eloquently expressed his disgust.

“He’s into causing pain, as far as I could tell. He drugged me, which is never a good sign, but before he could do anything, Dandy Andy showed up.” Tom paused and took another sip of the bourbon. “When I came to, Dandy was dead… torn to pieces like a horror movie. I ran.”

“You didn’t see the murder then.”

“No, but I saw him, Hugo, covered in blood and he was… chewing. He was—”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go into detail right now.”

“I ran home, but Hiddleston got there first. That’s when I called Robert.”

“And I know the rest.” Ryan shook his head. “I guess you know what that makes you.”

Tom shook his head.

“Does the term material witness mean anything to you?”

“Oh man.”

“Yeah.” Ryan finished his drink and set the glass and bottle on a side table. “You’re stuck with me for the unforeseeable.”

“I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

Ryan shrugged. “I want to get the guy who shot Scarlett. If that means babysitting you, so be it.”

“I didn’t want to be there,” Tom snapped. “I didn’t want to see what I saw. And I really, really didn’t want that psycho on my ass.”

Ryan was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay. You’re right. This isn’t your fault. But.” He met Tom’s eyes. “If you’d told us about the murder sooner, we probably wouldn’t be here right now, and Scar would still be alive.”

Tom looked down at his hands. Slowly, a tear slid down his cheek and fell into the bourbon. With an angry gesture, he drew his sleeve across his eyes. “She was really nice.”

“Not so much.” Ryan paused to take a drink. “I liked her though. She liked you, by the way. She didn’t say it, but I could tell. She thought you got dealt a rotten hand but you were toughing it out. She admires that shit.”

Tom couldn’t look at Ryan so he took another sip of the bourbon.

“She was biggest badass I ever knew,” Ryan said. “She had to be. When you’re five-foot-nothin’, stacked, and smokin’ hot, you gotta be tough as nails to make it on the force.” He paused. “You’d probably understand that better than a lot of people. That just occurred to me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No! Hell no! On two shots?”

“Try four. In like ten minutes.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

The exaggerated petulant tone startled a laugh out of Tom. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. Scarlett would be pissed off if anybody cried over her.” Ryan sighed. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Tom said lamely. “Maybe you should get wasted. I can, you know, stand guard.”

“In what world would that happen?” Ryan shook his head. “I mean, okay, maybe you aren’t a punk. Maybe you’re a kid who got caught up in some fuckery he didn’t ask for. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m not going to be incapacitated around someone I can’t trust.”

“Fair enough.”

Ryan narrowed his gaze. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Repeat what you just said.”

“Why?

“Because your voice sounded different. For a second there, you didn’t sound like a punk.”

“I think you’re losin’ it.” Tom picked up the glasses and the bottle and took them to the kitchen.


	12. Twelve

After Tom left the room, Ryan called Evans. “Would you believe it, boss? The kid saw a murder. A lowlife named Andy Serkis. Apparently, Weaving did a Cuisinart job on him.”

“Yuck.”

“Exactly. Now, the world probably isn’t going to miss one weaselly pimp slash drug dealer slash slumlord, but the more deaths we can hang around Weaving’s neck the better. Am I right?”

“You are correct. Give me your location. I’m sending a couple of teams out.”

“I’ve got this.”

“I don’t want to hear it. In case it escaped you, you witnessed a murder too.”

“Come on, Loo.”

“No can do. Now, where are you? Don’t make me do a bunch of computer voodoo to find your butt. Those tech guys make me uncomfortable.”

“The word you’re looking for is inadequate.” Ryan gave Evans his location. They talked for a moment longer, a few words about Scarlett, and then Ryan hung up. He spotted Tom standing in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t hover. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Can you find out how Harrison is? Mr. Downey was going to take him to the hospital.”

“Come here,” Ryan said, as though Tom hadn’t spoken.

“Why?” Tom asked warily.

“Because I thought I saw something on your face earlier. Come into the light.”

Tom walked over out of curiosity. He recoiled when Ryan reached toward him.

“Just turn your head that way,” Ryan said. “Yeah, you got some blood here. I need to move your hair.” He pushed Tom’s heavy bangs back from his forehead. “You got a decent gash here.”

“Probably a chip from that brick wall.”

“Yeah, probably right. Go in the bathroom and clean it up, and then we’ll see if it needs stitches.”

“What about Harrison?”

Ryan took out his phone. “I’m calling. See?” He called Robert’s number and handed the phone to Tom.

“It’s Tom.”

“Oh, thank god. Are you all right?”

“Mostly. I’m with the police in a… I can’t believe I have to say this. It’s too lame. I’m in a safe house. It’s like one cop show cliché after another. I’m probably going to get stitches with a sewing needle in a few minutes.”

“What?”

“I’m joking. How’s Harrison?”

“Harrison is in rehab.”

“That was fast.”

“I have friends with substance abuse problems who were happy to give me recommendations. It’s nice place, and he’ll get real help.”

“Good.”

“So, when are you coming in to work?”

Tom smiled. “I guess that’s up to the cops.” He saw Ryan gesture for the phone. “Detective Alpha Stud wants to talk to you,” he said before handing the phone over.

Ryan rolled his eyes as he spoke into the phone. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you when this will be over,” he told Robert. “I wish I could, but I can’t, because I don’t know.”

“You’ll look after him,” Robert said. It wasn’t a question.

“If it’s any comfort, I’ve got a personal stake in this. I don’t care what it costs. I’ll make sure he’s alive and well to testify in court.”

“That does make me feel better. Good evening, detective.”

“He’s an odd one,” Ryan said after he hung up.

“He’s been good to me.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

Tom frowned. “He hasn’t put a hand on me, F.Y.I.”

“Not yet. He struck me as a groomer, but you’re a bit old for that, aren’t you?”

“Shut up!” Tom said harshly. “Shut the fuck up!”

Ryan recoiled from the furious tone of the outburst. “Whoa. Take it easy.”

“You take it easy.”

Ryan held up a hand in a gesture of conciliation. “Being hard on people is a habit of mine, according to Scar.”

“Forget it. I’m embarrassed I let it bother me.” Tom glanced at the kitchen door. “Is it okay if I graze?”

“Knock yourself out.” Ryan slumped into a chair and put his forearm over his eyes. He didn’t feel it when he slipped into a doze. Nor did he feel it when Tom took his phone.

Robert answered on the first ring.

“How’s Harrison doing?”

“He’s fine. Settled into a room. I just left him.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Well, he’s pretty groggy, but he’s worried about you. So am I.”

“Yeah, I’m worried about me too.”

“I wish I was there. I’m not sure I trust Detective Hottie.”

“Hang on.” Tom turned on the phone’s map function and studied it for a minute. “I’m going to text you an address,” he said. “It’s not going to be easy to find though.”

“Send it.”

“Cool. I feel better knowing you know where I am. How weird is that?”

“I told you you were going to like me.”

“Shut up. I do not.” Tom lowered his voice. “I better go now. Take care of Harrison.”

“I will. Take care of you.”

Tom disconnected and slipped the phone back into Ryan’s jacket pocket. He took a few steps back and cleared his throat. When Ryan didn’t wake, Tom said his name.

Ryan’s eyes opened and he put his hand on his gun at the same time.

“Easy,” Tom said. “It’s just me.”

“Fuck, what a weird dream.” Ryan rubbed his eyes.

“You were barely out for like three minutes. That’s not enough time to dream.”

“Says who?”

Tom shook his head. “Google it.”

“You’re damn right I’ll google it.” Ryan glanced at the window. “Backup should be here in a half hour or so. What did you find in the kitchen?”

“I ate canned chili.”

“Is there any left?”

“Just a couple of crates. Come on. I’ll heat some up for you.”

Ryan followed Tom into the kitchen. While Tom opened another can and plopped the contents into the pot on the gas stove, Ryan looked through the cabinets.

“Aha!” Ryan pulled a plastic tub down and popped the seal. “Poor man’s nachos,” he said as he heaped tortilla chips on a plate.

“There’s cheese,” Tom said. “It was in the freezer. Not too horrible.”

“Excellent.” Ryan opened one of the two refrigerators. “Jeremy, you’re a prince,” he said. He took out a Dos Equis beer and looked at it regretfully. “Sadly, you cannot be mine.” He put the bottle back. “Not until backup gets here anyway.”

Tom poured the chili over the chips and put a couple of handfuls of cheese on top. “Dinner is served,” he said.

“Thanks.” Ryan sat and crunched his way through the makeshift nachos. “You know how to shoot?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Be honest. It’s important.”

“Someone I used to know taught me how to shoot. She also taught me how to reload and how to clean a gun. I’m pretty sure I remember how.”

“I’m talking worst-case scenario here, you understand.”

“That psycho Weaving is def a worst-case scenario.”

“Agreed.” Ryan glanced at the refrigerator. A cold beer would go down well. “My lieutenant is sending some cops to help protect you. Everything should be fine, but if it all goes to hell, I’m going to loan you my hideout piece. If you feel like you need to shoot somebody, don’t hesitate. As long as it isn’t me. Am I being clear?”

“Uh, yeah. That really seems extreme though.”

“Did you forget already?” Ryan tapped the wound on Tom’s forehead.

Tom shied back. “Fuck off.” He left Ryan sitting at the table and went to see if he could light the fireplace. It was starting to get seriously cold.

Hugo looked at the number on the burner phone’s screen and answered immediately. He didn’t say anything; he simply listened until the voice on the other end stopped talking. He removed the card from the phone, broke the casing on the edge of the desk, and threw it in the trash. His gaze fell on the armed man at the door, and he wished once again that Hiddles hadn’t turned traitor. The man had been arrogant, but he had also been efficient.

Hugo glanced at the time. It had been two hours, and no one had been able to track down one mouthy junkie whore. How hard could it be? Hiddles would have dragged the lad in by the ear an hour ago. Hugo quashed to urge to throw something. As the rage dissipated, he remembered the phone call. If the information was accurate, his problems would soon be over.

Unless his underlings fucked things up again.

“Arnott,” Hugo barked.

The man by the door jumped. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Tell the rest of the men we’re going for a drive, and make sure my car is ready.” Hugo scowled as Arnott hurried away. If you wanted something done right, sometimes you just had to do it yourself.

Robert parked and went inside his house. Getting Harrison checked in and settled hadn’t been strenuous, but he felt drained. Part of it was the stress of worrying about Tom. His concern was out of all proportion to the time he’d known the kid, but there it was. If he were completely honest, he’d admit he’d been snared the moment he’d laid eyes on him. There was something ineffable about the combination of the arrangement of his features, his build, and his coloring that captivated Robert’s senses. He was enthralled, but in the best possible way. He didn’t want to possess Tom; he wanted to celebrate him and share his delight in the wonder of Tom with the rest of the world.

“Silly old queen,” he said under his breath.

Robert chuckled as he flipped the light switch on the wall beside the door. Nothing happened and a frisson of dread crept up his spine. He didn’t hear a strange noise or smell anything peculiar, but somehow, he knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t anything as simple as a dead bulb or a tripped breaker. He took a step back and bumped into something that shouldn’t have been there.

“Stay calm,” someone said in Robert’s ear. “I just need some information from you.”

It was almost an hour after eating that Ryan saw headlights approaching. He checked his phone, but didn’t see any missed calls or texts. That was weird. Evans would have given one of the officers his number to alert him when they were near.

“Tom.”

Ryan waited but Tom didn’t answer. He called louder. “Tommy!”

Tom appeared in the doorway. “What?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Tom saw the gun in Ryan’s hand. He went into a crouch and hurried over to join him. On his way, he took a chef’s knife from the block on the counter.

“Good boy,” Ryan said. He took the smaller Sig Sauer from its ankle holster and put it in his jacket pocket. “Stay close,” he said. “It’s probably my backup, but better safe than sorry.”

“Right.”

Ryan glanced at Tom. “You okay, punk?”

“Fuck you.”

“Good.” Ryan started to move. “Stay behind me.”

Ryan’s phone chirped halfway across the kitchen floor. “Fuck me,” he said under his breath as he looked at the screen. “What’s the word, Loo?” he asked as he answered.

“Backup should be there in about a half hour. There was a jam on the bridge.”

“Well, shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got uninvited company.”

“Get out of there. I’ll scramble a chopper… if there’s one available.”

“10-4.” Ryan cut the connection. “Change of plans,” he said. “Those aren’t friendlies outside.” He was impressed that Tom didn’t ask a lot of questions, just waited to hear the plan. “We’re leaving to wait for reinforcements in the woods.”

Tom nodded.

“There’s a window in the loft with a tree outside it. I’ve used it before.”

Headlights swept the front of the cabin.

“Stay tight on me.” Ryan moved out, dodging furniture on his way to the stairs. He felt Tom hook a finger in one of his belt loops and tamped down a flare of admiration, but he had to admit, the kid was cool under fire.

When they reached the flight of stairs that led to the loft, Ryan stood aside to let Tom go first. Tom scampered up like a motivated squirrel and Ryan followed. They heard several more gunshots as the thugs approached the cabin, and then they heard a crash of splintering wood and glass.

“They’re in,” Ryan said unnecessarily as Tom jumped onto the bed.

Ryan watched the stairs, gun in hand, as Tom worked the window latch. Cold air flowed over Ryan’s neck and he turned to see Tom halfway out the window.

“Come on,” Tom said. “It’s easy.” And then he was gone.

Ryan climbed on the bed, crouched on the windowsill, and then crawled out onto the convenient branch. When he looked, he saw Tom descending like the son of Tarzan. Somewhat more slowly, Ryan made his way to the ground. Tom was waiting, pressed against the broad trunk of the tree.

Ryan took a quick look around as he thought fast. The boathouse was out; it was the first place the thugs would check. That left the lake and the woods. Way too cold for swimming and a canoe would be highly visible to the gunmen. So, into the woods to wait for the helicopter.

“Come on.” Ryan moved into the trees, confident now that Tom would stay on his heels. The gun in his pocket bumped against his hip as if reminding him of its presence. Once more, he debated arming Tom and decided against it. He just couldn’t take the chance. He thanked whoever was listening that it hadn’t snowed yet this year and kept slogging.

After several minutes, Ryan stopped and took out his phone. He turned on the flashlight function and shone the light around discreetly. “Yes,” he said under his breath and walked about ten feet to his left. “Over here.”

Tom joined Ryan by a thick-trunked tree whose broad branches formed about five feet above the ground. It would be an awesome climbing tree in the right situation. Tom watched Ryan kneel to dig in the leaf mold around the roots.

“There’s a cache here,” Ryan said without looking up.

Tom didn’t ask what a cache was. He got down beside Ryan and started digging. Almost immediately, his nails scraped over something that wasn’t dirt. “Here,” he said.

Ryan and Tom uncovered a hatch and Ryan knocked the lock off with the butt of his gun. He raised the hatch and shined the phone light into the darkness. Revealed was an eight by four earthen cellar just deep enough to stand up in. It held several insulated coolers that were duct-taped shut.

“God bless preppers,” Ryan said. He looked at Tom. “Get in.”

Tom lowered himself into the large hole and waited while Ryan did what he could to hide the signs of their presence. Nothing would hide the wooden hatch, but it was covered with dirt, and Ryan hoped obscuring their trail would keep any pursuit from looking here. He thought they had a better than even chance of remaining undiscovered and that was good enough for now. In a few minutes, he’d call the lieutenant and see how far out help was.

“What is this place?” Tom asked.

“My friend Jeremy is a survivalist. Spends a lot of time in the woods hunting with a bow, communing with nature, sleeping under the stars, and so on. He’s got four or five caches like this salted around his property.”

“Where is he?”

“Tibet, last I heard.” Ryan picked at the tape on one of the chests. “These are full of dry goods, kindling, matches, you know.”

“Not really. I’m not a survivalist. I’ve never even been camping.”

“That’s a damn shame. Every kid should go camping.”

Tom ignored the remark. “You think there are blankets in one of those?” He pointed at the chest Ryan was sitting on.

“Probably. Why don’t you check and see what my good friend Jer left for us?”

While Tom opened coolers and looked inside, Ryan called Evans’s personal phone. When no one answered, a cold knot of foreboding formed behind his breastbone. After trying another number, his phone shut off, and he saw it was out of power. He resisted the urge to throw the phone and slipped it into his pocket, instead.

Ryan glanced over at Tom as the kid pulled a plaid stadium blanket from a chest and noted he still had nothing but a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers between him and the cold. Ryan felt an unpleasant twinge of guilt. Tom might be a punk, but he was still responsible for him. He needed to start paying attention and taking better care.

“Kid,” Ryan said. “Pull a few of those chests together. Put the blanket on them and then wrap yourself up. It’ll be a lot warmer than sitting on the ground.”

Tom did as Ryan said without questioning him, and Ryan wondered at the odd blend of docile compliance and defiant resistance. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd. Ryan shied away from the path his thoughts were headed down. The past was dead. No point in disturbing the grave.

“You pick your battles, don’t you?”

Tom looked over at Ryan. “What?”

“Nothing, Just a weird thought. You warm enough now?”

“Getting there.”

“Listen. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Help is on the way, but right now, I can’t get in touch with anybody because I fucking forgot to charge my fucking phone.”

“Is staying in one place a good idea?”

“It is until I think of a better one.” Ryan stood up. “Stay here and stay quiet. I’m going to have a look around.” He thought again about giving Tom the Sig. “You still have that knife?”

Tom held up the chef’s knife.

Ryan nodded and then pulled a chest over to stand on. He looked around and then levered himself out of the hole. He closed the hatch and crept back the way they’d come.


	13. Thirteen

When Ryan reached the lake, he skirted the shore, listening for sounds of anyone else moving around in the trees. He crept over to the small boathouse where he had cover and a good view of the cabin.

There were two vehicles parked on the lawn, a black SUV and a black Town Car. Lights were on in the cabin, and people were moving around inside. Ryan couldn’t tell how many, but by estimating the top capacity of each vehicle, there could be twenty. He figured there were at least twelve. Weaving wasn’t kidding around.

When a man came out the front door, Ryan ducked back. Staying out of sight, he moved to the rear of the low structure and crouched at the waterline. Under the edge of the boathouse wall, he could see slivers of bright color: Jeremy’s sleek kayaks. They reminded him of better days spent on the lake, just the three of them, Scarlett, Jeremy, and him. He was going to have to get in touch with Jeremy eventually and tell him about Scarlett.

Ryan shook off the maudlin mood that was blunting his thought processes. He needed to stay alert, get his ass in gear, and make sure nothing happened to his witness. Nothing else, he amended.

Ryan took out his phone and looked at it. It remained stubbornly dead. He put it away and stole back into the woods, moving more swiftly. Everything looked normal at the cache site when he returned. He lifted the hatch cautiously and looked down. His heart slammed against his ribs and then started beating double time.

Tom was gone.

Ryan spun in a circle, seeking any sign that would tell him where Tom had gone. Leaving the kid alone had been stupid; he saw that now, but he’d counted on Tom’s sense of self-preservation to keep him there. He really hadn’t expected him to run.

On the other hand, what if someone had found him?

Ryan quartered the small clearing, searching for traces of footprints, anything, but the soft leaf mold looked undisturbed as far as he could tell. He wasn’t Daniel Boone, for Chrissake. He was just a bonehead homicide cop who had lost a citizen in his charge. If anything happened to Tom, Ryan knew he’d never be the same. Losing his partner and a protected witness in the space of a few hours would destroy him. The guilt would crush him like an empty beer can. He had to find him. _Had to._

“You’re back.”

Ryan whirled to see Tom about fifteen feet away, coming out from behind a stand of yew. Relief collided with anger, and it was a few seconds before he could speak. “Jesus Christ, kid! What the fuck?”

“I had to pee.”

Ryan help open the hatch and gestured curtly. Tom walked over and dropped down into the cache hole. Ryan lowered himself in and closed the hatch.

Tom took a look at Ryan’s face and started talking quickly. “I’m sorry, but I really had to go, and I didn’t want to go in here. I waited as long as I could.”

Ryan’s anger ebbed as quickly as it had surged. “It’s okay,” he said. “No, wait, it’s not okay, but I’m not mad. I almost had a heart attack when I opened that hatch and didn’t see you. Fuck.”

“You say fuck a lot.”

“Very well, thank you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Tom’s mouth. “I’m really sorry. I knew I shouldn’t but—”

“Forget about it. What’s done is done.” Ryan considered things for a moment before he spoke again. “I went back and had a look at the cabin. There’s a lot of guys there. I think they’re gearing up for a serious search. They know we’re on foot in the middle of the wilderness, so they’re probably feeling pretty confident. Our choices, simply put, are to wait it out here or try to make it to help.” He looked at Tom. “I don’t like the idea of being trapped here, but I also don’t like the idea of dragging you through the woods at night.”

“I won’t hold you back.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Ryan sighed. “It’s dangerous running around the woods at night. You could step in a hole and break an ankle. You could fall into the lake. Some small bluffs on this side. Not to mention the temperature is still dropping.”

“It didn’t seem like it was that far back to a main road.”

“You really don’t want to stay here, huh?”

“I don’t like feeling trapped either.”

“This is my fault. I haven’t been thinking straight since—”

“Hey, you’re only human, right?”

Ryan blinked. “On my best days,” he said. “If I’d been thinking, we’d have gone for the car. I could probably have outrun them if they didn’t have someone blocking the drive. And I could charge my goddam phone.”

“Let’s deal with the current situation, okay?”

Ryan blinked again. “Good advice. Hand me the blanket and the knife.”

Ryan cut a hole in the blanket and pulled it over Tom’s head. After a brief search, he found a coil of polypropylene rope and cut off a length. He used the rope to cinch the makeshift poncho around Tom’s waist.

“Thanks,” Tom said, before he hopped up on the cooler and pulled himself out of the cache hole. He reached down to give Ryan a hand.

Ryan only hesitated a moment before accepting Tom’s help. Once above ground, he started off without hesitation. They walked for about fifteen minutes before he stopped.

“We should have hit Jeremy’s property line by now,” Ryan said. “He’s got an electronic perimeter, but he also put up snow fencing to mark the boundary. It’s easy to see and doesn’t bother the deer.”

Tom ignored the extraneous information. “Are you saying you don’t know where we are?”

Ryan shook his head. “I’m lost,” he confirmed without embroidering the statement. “But when the moon rises, I’ll have a fair idea which direction to go.”

“So, we wait for the moon?”

“Let’s find a clearer spot with less trees.”

Ryan set off again and Tom followed.

“Why did they make so many trees?” Ryan commented after they’d been walking for a while.

Tom chuckled.

“Seriously, you hear about tree shortages all the time. I have to schlep my groceries in plastic bags because of it. Look around. Do you notice any lack of trees?”

“No mosquito shortage either.”

“Ignore them. They’ll go away. Seriously. They’re only out a little while.”

“They’re huge. Like secret government experiment huge.”

Ryan almost smiled. “You should see the spiders.”

“No thank you.”

“Scared of spiders?”

“No, I like them. I’ve just had enough of them for now.” Tom pulled the folds of the blanket-poncho closer around him.

After several more minutes of walking, Ryan stopped in a tiny clearing. “This is as good as it gets,” he said. “Take a rest.”

Tom sat at the base of a tree, drew up his knees, and leaned back against the trunk. He watched Ryan look up at the cloudy sky.

Ryan came over to Tom. “I can’t see dick,” he said as he sat. He tucked his overcoat around him and gazed up again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have taken better care of you.”

“Hey, you didn’t take me to raise. You got stuck with me. As far as I’m concerned, you already saved my life once, so, no need to apologize,” Tom said frankly.

“You might change your mind if we’re still out here in a few hours. It’s going to get _cold_.”

“I’ve been cold before, and I survived.”

“Goddammit.”

“What’s wrong?”

Ryan sighed. “I really _don’t_ want to like you, but you’re really… likeable.”

“Yeah? What do you like about me?”

Ryan shrugged. “I just think most kids, most adults for that matter, would be complaining a little by now. Not you. You haven’t even bothered me with questions.”

“I figure you have more experience with this kind of thing than I do.”

“I don’t want to get into some deep conversation about it, but I’ve only ever met one other person like you, and that was Scar.”

“Come on. You don’t know me at all.”

“I’ve observed you in a few very stressful situations. You react the same way she would. You just get a grip and deal with what needs dealt with.”

“Well… don’t feel like you have to like me. I’m good without it.”

Ryan chuckled. “Man, I wish she was here to see you bust my balls. She’d love it.” He fell silent.

After a few seconds, Tom glanced at Ryan and saw the glimmer of tears on his cheeks. Tom quickly looked up at the sky. Between the fast-moving, tattered scraps of clouds, the stars pulsed light as they always had. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of a wilderness of trees instead of concrete; the stars were the same. He tried not to think about Harrison, but of course, that was impossible. He remembered the last time they’d slept on the roof before it got too cold. He never did drugs, but Harrison had a joint he insisted they smoke so Tom would “mellow out.” The stars had been so bright, so sharp, he got paranoid and was afraid the light would pierce him like lasers. Harrison had laughed at him and put an arm around him, and they stopped talking. It was enough to lie there looking up.

“Fuck, this wind is freezing my ass,” Ryan said. “Let’s get out of the open.”

Ryan and Tom walked a little farther into the heavy forest. When they came across a stream, Ryan called a halt on the mossy bank.

“I give up for now,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m just getting us more lost. Let’s have another rest.”

They sat with their backs against the embankment and Tom took out a bottle of water he’d lifted from the cache. He shared it with Ryan and put the top back on. After a few minutes of inactivity, the cold began to seep in. Ryan noticed Tom was shivering.

“Come here,” Ryan said.

“What?”

“Move closer to me.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the _we have to share our body heat_ cliché.”

Tom groaned, but he scooted closer to Ryan. Ryan put an arm around Tom’s shoulders.

“I shudder to suggest it,” Ryan said. “But it looks like we might be stuck here. If I put my coat on the moss, and we put the blanket over us, we’ll stay a lot warmer.”

“I shudder to agree, but you’re right.”

“Are we doing this?”

Tom stood and unknotted the rope belt. Ryan unzipped the fleece-lined overcoat before spreading it on the moss and lying down on top of it. Tom threw the blanket over Ryan and crawled underneath. Neither he nor Ryan moved a muscle for several long seconds.

“You’re right. This is better,” Tom said.

“Don’t freak out, but I’m going to move closer, okay?”

“Are we going full cliché?”

“Uh, what’s the full cliché?”

“Never mind.”

Ryan thought for a moment. “No, we aren’t going to have sex to keep warm.”

“You’re damn right we’re not.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ryan said. “And don’t take this the wrong way.” He spooned up to Tom’s back and put an arm around him.

Tom wanted to say something cutting, but Ryan’s heat felt _so good_ pressed against him. It was almost like a drug, making him feel pleasantly drowsy.

“Just so you know, I’m not flattered by someone wanting to have sex with me,” Tom mumbled.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t be. How’d you fall into that, if I may ask?”

“It’s always been that way.”

“I don’t understand. Where are your people? Your parents?”

“I don’t know.” Tom shifted, seeking a more comfortable spot. “There’s a lot I don’t know. I mean, I’m pretty sure my name is Tom and that I’m eighteen, but I don’t know when my birthday is or if Holland is really my last name.”

“You might be right about your last name. We couldn’t find any records on you.” Ryan cleared his throat. “So, you don’t know anything about where you came from?”

“I remember having foster parents but those were group homes, you know? There were always at least a dozen kids. I remember three of the homes, but I don’t remember where they were. I got moved a lot.” Tom sighed. “I realized eventually that I was being sold.”

“You said you were an emancipated minor.”

“That was bullshit. I’ve never been in a court. I don’t even have a birth certificate. No i.d. at all.”

“No way to prove who you are.”

“Can we not talk about this?”

“Sure. I’m just killin’ time. Pick another subject.” Ryan paused. “Or you could go ahead and tell me the worst thing and after that it’ll get better. Honest.”

Tom was quiet for several moments. When he spoke again, his voice was emotionless “The last group home I was in was nothing but a kiddie whorehouse. No one there was over twelve. All the doors locked from the outside. Anyone with enough cash could pay to spend time with a kid in one of the rooms. You get the picture?”

Ryan swallowed bile. “That’s… nauseating.”

“I look young for my age but around the time I was fourteen I guess I started to look too old. Then I guess this pimp bought me because he came and got me and told me I worked for him now. He tried to fuck me in the back of a van as we were leaving the home. I threw him out the back door and jumped. I was lucky the guy driving stopped when the doors came open. Too late for Mr. Rapist, but I was okay.”

“You been on the streets since then?” Ryan managed to keep his voice steady despite his rising anger at the monsters who abused children. He had the feeling Tom would shut down if he got the faintest whiff of pity.

“Yeah. I still had to turn tricks to get by, but at least I picked out the customers and someone else wasn’t getting the money.”

“Hard to get a job with no i.d.”

“No kidding. It’s funny how a guy won’t give you five bucks to sweep his store but he’ll give you twenty to suck his cock.”

“That’s enough history for now, okay?”

“You asked.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t think my heart can take much more today. I know I seem like this tough, Diehard kind of cop, but—”

“I’ve seen Diehard, and you’re no John McClane.”

“Punk.” Ryan scrubbed his beard stubble against Tom’s neck.

“Don’t,” Tom said in a choked voice.

“Okay. Sorry. I was being a jerk.”

After a minute, Tom said. “At least you’re a warm jerk.”

“I do have my good qualities.”

“Body heat is high on my list at the moment.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. Seriously. I was just horsing around. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s okay. You just surprised me. I really wasn’t expecting that, and it reminded me of—”

Ryan waited, but Tom didn’t finish the sentence. “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Tom relaxed again. “This reminds me of the winter I met Harrison. We kept each other from freezing that year and passed a cold back and forth.” His voice grew sleepy. “He kicked ass on some bullies who were picking on me. He took care of me until I learned to fight for myself. Now I’m taking care of him until he’s well enough to care for himself again.”

“It could happen. Some people do manage to kick a drug habit.”

“He’ll do it. We’ll do it together.” After a few moments of silence, Tom said. “I really am sorry about your partner.”

Tears filled Ryan’s eyes and overflowed. He tried but he couldn’t stop them. They just kept coming. He put both arms around Tom and held him like a favorite pillow until he got himself under control. He started to apologize again but a soft snore told him Tom was asleep or pretending to be asleep. Since Ryan couldn’t think of anything more productive to do, he stayed wrapped around Tom and dozed.


	14. Fourteen

Ryan opened his eyes on a ghost world. Early morning mist blanketed the woods, muffling sound and color. Anything more than twenty feet away was either a pale silhouette or invisible. A bird call startled him, and he flinched, waking Tom.

“Shhh,” Ryan whispered next to Tom’s ear.

Gingerly, Ryan moved the blanket and sat up with his gun in hand. He listened hard, but since the bird had chirped, he hadn’t heard another sound except for the stream.

Tom mimed taking a piss and Ryan nodded. Tom moved off and was lost to sight in moments. Ryan fretted until Tom came back and then went to relieve himself. When he came back, Tom was wearing the poncho again. Ryan put on his overcoat and holstered his gun.

“It would be stupid to go flailing around in the fog and maybe trip over one of Weaving’s men,” Ryan said quietly. “I can’t think of anything better to do than wait for it to lift.”

Tom sat, and after a moment, Ryan sat next to him.

“I showed you mine,” Tom said softly. “Let’s hear about your tragic childhood.”

“I don’t talk about it.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. I bared my soul to you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you did, but in the spirit of quid pro quo, I’ll tell you a little.”

“Good enough, I guess.”

Ryan tried for the same detached tone Tom had used in reciting his history. “My childhood probably looked golden from the outside. I was an only child and had middle-class parents who spoiled me. It would have been great except for the creepy uncle.”

“Aw shit,” Tom said softly.

“Yeah. I don’t know how early it started; I just know he was always there. Family barbecues. Birthday parties. Holidays. Anytime he wanted to stop by really. He lived on the other side of town, but it was a small town.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Even when I was little, I knew something was wrong with the way he touched me, but it never occurred to me to tell anyone. I figured that was how it was for everyone. Then one day when I was twelve, I did say something. A couple of guys in my neighborhood gang were bragging about getting blow jobs, and I jumped right in. I’ll never forget the way they looked at me.”

“Fuck. What happened?”

“I went home and told my mom. She didn’t believe me.”

“Fuck,” Tom repeated with more feeling.

“Yeah. Up until then, I could do no wrong, so it hit me hard when she didn’t believe me. When my dad got home, she gave him her version, and he took a belt to me. I was locked in my room for the weekend. My mom wouldn’t look at me when she brought a tray of food. When they let me out, the minister from our church was there. They hammered me for hours asking me shit like why would I make up such a disgusting story about a good man like my uncle? They made me confess my sin of lying, and then we prayed for a couple more hours.” Ryan took a deep breath. “That’s the worst of it,” he said. “After that, I kept my head down and never mentioned Uncle Roy again. The day I turned sixteen, I applied to become an emancipated minor. I haven’t spoken to my family since.”

“What happened with your uncle?”

“The next time he tried to touch me, I kicked him as hard as I could in the nuts. He got the message. I had to put up with him hugging me in front of my family, but the other stuff was over. I got a job stocking a pet food warehouse. I worked all the hours they’d give me and got paid under the table. I went to night school and got my GED. I decided I wanted to be a cop. And here we are.”

“That actually explains a lot.”

“Oh, does it now?”

Tom looked up at Ryan, but Ryan didn’t look angry, more amused than anything. “Yeah, it explains why you were so mean to me. Obviously, you made it without ever whoring yourself out, so I can see why you’d look down on me.” He shrugged.

“I don’t.” Ryan smiled. “Okay, I did, but now I don’t.”

“Why? Just because you feel sorry for me, I get a pass?”

“No.” Ryan shook his head. “I feel bad for what happened to you, but you dealt with it as best you could. I’m not judging you.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“Are you judging me?”

Tom was quiet long enough for Ryan to speak again.

“Is this another cliché?” Ryan asked to lighten the mood.

“Bonding under extreme circumstances?”

“Our heroes find common ground?”

Tom chuckled. “I’m no hero.”

“Harrison might disagree.”

“No.” Tom smiled. “He knows me. If there’s a hero in this story, it’s you or Robert.” He hesitated and then spoke anyway. “And Detective Johansson.”

Ryan gazed into the distance. “Does the fog seem lighter to you?”

“Yeah.” Tom stood up and turned in a circle.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for my shadow. I read you can find north by casting a shadow.”

Ryan smiled. “You’re right, but let’s find a stick or something. You jam it in the ground and then go the way the shadow points.”

In a few minutes, they started walking in the direction they believed to be west, which should bring them to a road eventually. They started talking quietly about music and found they had absolutely nothing in common. Ryan deplored Tom’s lack of education in rock classics and Tom made snide remarks about someone needing change their Depends.

Ryan caught himself more than once thinking something Tom had said sounded just like Scarlett. It was both painful and comforting, but that was life. He had no idea what was going to happen when they got back to civilization—if they got back—but he didn’t think he could just let Tom Holland walk out of his life. The kid deserved better than to be abandoned again. From what he’d seen, he was pretty sure Mr. Downey would stick by Tom, and he had Harrison, too, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend in law enforcement. Ryan made up his mind that he was going to be that friend. He couldn’t think of a better way to honor Scarlett’s memory.

“You’re really quiet,” Tom said. “You okay?”

“Just thinking about Scar, and how much I miss her already.”

After a few more minutes of silent walking, Tom said. “Any idea how far we’ve come?”

“ _Nada. Nada_ clue.”

“I think I hear something.”

“Sound carries weirdly in a fog.”

“It’s not that foggy anymore. Hush.”

Ryan stopped walking and listened. Damned if he didn’t hear something. “What is that? Almost sounds like music.”

Tom smiled. “It’s Taylor Swift, grandad. Shake It Off.”

“I don’t think I can. Pop music makes me crave insulin.”

“No, the song is called Shake It Off.” Tom cocked his head. “That way,” he pointed.

Moving with more caution, they followed the music.

Ryan put a hand on Tom’s shoulder, and Tom stopped walking. Ryan put a finger to his lips and motioned for Tom to get down. They both crouched until they were below the level of the elderberry bushes. Ryan pressed down on Tom’s shoulder to indicate he should stay where he was, and then he crept forward. In about ten feet, the elderberry and viburnum thinned a little, and he could see sunlight glinting on chrome.

Ryan got lower and moved forward another few feet. He encountered a shallow ditch and stopped. The fog had dissipated, and through the screen of reeds, he saw a big man in a polo shirt, dress slacks, and a shoulder holster leaning on the fender of an Escalade SUV. The man’s mirrored sunglasses reflected the blue sky as he gazed upward, his demeanor as disinterested as the average bovine. Ryan didn’t doubt he worked for Weaving.

Moving stealthily, Ryan returned to the spot where he’d left Tom. He had a few bad seconds when he didn’t recognize anything, and then Tom whistled. Ryan ducked down beside Tom and spoke close to his ear.

“One of Weaving’s thugs is parked on the road to the cabin. It looks like he’s by himself.”

“Can we take his car?”

Ryan smiled. The kid was on the same page. “I’d rather not ask you to do this, but I doubt I could stop you.”

“You want me to be a decoy?”

“More like bait, but yeah, that’s the idea. You distract him. I get the drop on him.”

“Let’s do it.”

A moment later, Tom stepped into the road several feet from the rear of the Cadillac. “Hey,” he called out. “You lookin’ for me?”

The thug spun around, toothpick falling from his mouth, and focused on Tom. His hand went to his gun, but he didn’t draw. He was now more concerned with the fact that Ryan had stepped in front of him and had a SIG P320 pointed at his forehead.

“Hey, there,” Ryan said. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

“And you didn’t see this coming,” Hugo said as he came around the SUV. “Christ, Dubcek, can’t a man take a leak without things going to shit?”

Dubcek went for his gun and Ryan shot him. Before Ryan could re-aim, Hugo drew and fired. Tom had already covered half the distance between them when Ryan fell to the ground. Tom threw himself down next to Ryan.

“How nice to see you again, Billy Joe,” Hugo said. “It was rude of you to leave without saying goodbye.”

Tom ignored him. “You’re going to be okay,” he said softly to Ryan.

“Left pocket. Don’t forget… safety,” Ryan wheezed before his eyes closed.

“For Christ’s sake, lad, you’re not a doctor. Leave him.” Hugo gestured with his pistol. “Come over here.”

Tom stood awkwardly and walked toward Hugo, his slumped posture the epitome of a sulking teenager feeling wronged by the world.

“Good boy,” Hugo said. “I’ve decided not to delete you. It’ll be much more fun to train you.”

Tom stopped about six feet away. “ _Train_ me?”

“Yes, you’ll learn all about life as a slave.”

Tom’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Been there. Done that. Your offer is… How can I put this?” He pretended to think. “Oh yeah. Your offer is _inadequate_.”

While Hugo was trying to remember where he’d heard similar words, Tom raised Ryan’s little hideout gun from the folds of the blanket-poncho. Hugo laughed. “You don’t have what it takes to shoot someone,” he said. “Put that lady’s gun down before you hurt yourself.”

Hugo’s eyes widened as Tom took aim at him with the sleek little 9mm. Tom’s hand was as steady as his gaze, and Hugo, at last, felt a tremor of fear. As the mob boss belatedly swung his pistol up, he recalled telling Hiddles he was inadequate just before he shot him. Hiddles would have found this situation vastly amusing, Hugo thought, just before Tom fired the SIG P230. Hugo staggered back, hit the side of the big vehicle, and slid to the ground. He ended up in a sitting position, staring at the ground between his feet until his eyes closed.

Tom ran back to Ryan and knelt beside him. “Don’t leave me,” he said. “You better fucking stay with me, or I’ll fucking kick your fucking ass.”

Ryan’s eyes opened. “You say fuck a lot.”

“You stay with me, you hear me?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Ryan groaned in pain. “Unless you get the elephant off my chest.”

Tom moved Ryan’s hand and took over applying pressure to the chest wound. “Quit whining,” he said, as though he was talking to Harrison. “The bullet didn’t hit your heart, or you’d be dead. It didn’t hit your lung either, or there’d be bubbles. It didn’t hit your spine, or you wouldn’t be able to move. You’re going to be all right.”

“I could still bleed to death.”

“Shut up, Donnie Downer. You’re not going to die. You’re going to get in that status symbol on wheels, and I’m going to take you to a hospital. Got it?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

With Tom’s help, Ryan sat up. Blood poured from the wound until Tom got pressure on it again.

“Fuck,” Tom said. “This isn’t going to work. You stay here.”

Tom got in the SUV, punched the start button, and backed the behemoth to where Ryan waited. Quite a bit more blood was lost getting Ryan into the back, but he was able to lie down and hold Tom’s T-shirt over the wound. Tom went back around to the driver’s door and froze when he saw Hugo leaning on the fender with his pistol in his hand. Silently, he cursed himself for leaving the gun with Ryan.

“Surprise,” Hugo said. “Not dead yet.”

Tom calculated his chances of diving through the open door, putting the car in gear, and squashing Hugo like a roach. He didn’t see how he could do it without dying or killing Ryan in the process. “Shit.”

“Very succinct.” Hugo smiled. There was blood in his teeth.

Tom shivered as he pictured Hugo squatting over the remains of The Dandy. He swallowed an overflow of bitter saliva. “What now?”

“Now you drive me to the cabin. I think we can trust Detective Reynolds to die on the way. The road is a bit bumpy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I won’t let you kill him.”

“It’s not hard to see what Hiddles found so alluring about you.” Hugo licked his own blood from his lips. “I think you’ll be easier to handle if I kill the policeman now.” He started forward.

“What’s it worth?”

“Excuse me?” Hugo stopped and focused on Tom again.

“What would I have to do to keep you from shooting Ryan?”

“It’s so cute that you think you have anything to bargain with. Let me acquaint you with the facts. I’m going to kill the cop, and then I’m going to do whatever I like with you.”

Tom thought for a moment, hyper-aware that Ryan was bleeding to death in the cargo area of the SUV. “How are you not dead?” he asked to keep Hugo talking.

Hugo smiled. “Because I wear a vest, child. The new Spectra model. Hiddles insisted.”

“Ironic.”

“It is a bit, isn’t it?” Hugo cleared his throat. “As for what you can do—” He broke off as the sound of powerful engine grew quickly in volume. His eyes widened as a black Audi appeared around the curve. “What the fuck?”

While Hugo was distracted, Tom dove into the Escalade. Hugo fired several rounds at the Audi in rapid succession putting holes in the hood and the right fender and putting cracks in the windshield. The driver cranked the steering wheel and the sports car slewed sideways to come at Hugo broadside. Through the open window, Hugo caught sight of the driver and nearly lost his nerve, but it would take more than a dead man driving to rattle him.

“Take the wheel,” Hiddleston said to Robert.

Robert grabbed the steering wheel as Hiddleston pointed his gun out the window. Hiddleston didn’t flinch when Hugo began firing at him. He calmly took aim and fired as though he was at the range and not in a car drifting sideways. His bullet took Hugo through the neck, splitting his larynx before hitting his spine, and then exiting. Hugo dropped to the ground and Hiddleston remembered to put his foot on the brake. The Audi’s back end swung around and the sleek car came to rest in a cloud of dust.

“I am never calling Uber again,” Robert said.


	15. Fifteen

Tom crawled over the back seat into the cargo area and knelt beside Ryan. Ryan’s eyes were closed and he was too pale. Quickly, Tom felt for a heartbeat and almost sobbed with relief when he felt it under his hand. He’d only known this man for about thirty-six hours, but he would mourn him like a brother if he’d died. Weird, but there it was.

In another moment, the hatchback opened and Robert and Hiddleston peered into the interior.

“Get help,” Tom said.

“On it,” Robert said as he broke out his phone.

“Get in the passenger seat,” Hiddleston ordered Robert as he shut the hatch.

Tom knelt beside Ryan and kept pressure on the wound as Hiddleston pushed the big vehicle to its limits. Robert spoke at length to someone in authority at the nearest hospital, using his name and considerable powers of persuasion to ensure Ryan would be taken care of immediately.

“By the way, he’s a cop,” Robert said before hanging up. “That ought to light a fire under them,” he said.

“In my experience, most health care professionals are already motivated,” Hiddleston said.

“The more I get to know you, the more I hate you,” Robert said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Hiddleston smiled at the windshield and squeezed another few miles per hour out of the Escalade.

A team was waiting at the Emergency Room to take charge of Ryan. He was whisked onto to a gurney amidst a flurry of activity that looked chaotic but was in fact carefully choreographed. He disappeared through a pair of doors and Robert, Hiddleston, and Tom were left standing in the hallway.

“Whew!” Robert shook his head. “Let’s not do that again.” He turned to Tom. “Are you okay? Is any of that blood yours?”

Tom shook his head. “I’m okay.” He paused. “I’m pretty hungry though.”

“Then I suggest we go to the hospital cafeteria or coffee shop or whatever they’ve got,” Robert said. “We’ve got nothing to do but wait.”

“What about calling the cops?” Tom asked.

“Done,” Robert said. “I’m surprised they weren’t here ahead of us.”

“Good.” Tom looked at the wall placard at the end of the hall. “Cafeteria is that way,” he said before he started walking.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Hiddleston remarked to Robert. “You’d never know he was just shot at and escaped the clutches of a psycho.”

“Resilient is the word you’re looking for,” Robert said as he started walking.

“That’s certainly one of his finer qualities.”

Robert gave Hiddleston the side-eye, but he didn’t speak again until they were sitting down with trays of haphazardly chosen food items. Tom had a roast beef sandwich as well as tuna salad on a bed of lettuce and tomato, a cup of yogurt, a slice of lemon meringue pie, and a side of mac and cheese, as well as a square of something that purported to be lasagna. Robert had a cup of coffee and a bagel. Hiddleston was picking at cottage cheese mounded on half a pear.

“I’ve heard of that.” Robert pointed at Hiddleston’s plate. “But I didn’t know anyone actually ate it.”

“I certainly can’t manage it.” Hiddleston pushed the plate away.

“You going to finish that?” Tom asked.

Hiddleston pushed the plate over to Tom. “It’s your stomach,” he said.

Tom pointed his fork at Hiddleston. “I can’t believe I’m asking this question twice in the same day, but why aren’t you dead?”

“Because Hugo is insane.”

“Yeah, but he still shot you.”

Hiddleston smiled. “I’m alive because it never occurred to Hugo that I might wear a bulletproof vest just like the one I insisted he buy.”

Tom smiled around a mouthful of sandwich. “That’s kind of awesome.”

Robert cleared his throat. “Before we get too chummy, let’s not forget Mr. Hiddleston kidnapped your friend Harrison not to mention he’s a hit man.”

“I prefer the term contract killer,” Hiddleston said.

“The point is that you’re a killer,” Robert said. “I appreciate what you did today, but it doesn’t wipe the slate clean.”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” Hiddleston said. “But I’m okay with that. In a few hours, this will simply be a nightmare I woke from.” He smiled. “If you have some notion of turning me over to the authorities, you should know I won’t hesitate to take steps to prevent that.”

“So, I should just let a cold-blooded murderer walk into the sunset? A murderer who broke into my home, scared the bejeezus out of me, kidnapped me, stole my car, and—I swear there was something else.”

“I broke that thing,” Hiddleston said. “You were quite distressed.”

“That’s right!” Robert exclaimed. “You broke my Tibetan alms bowl.”

Hiddleston rolled his eyes.

Tom smiled because it was funny, but then he remembered that Hiddleston had threatened to give Harrison to Hugo. “You know,” he said. “I think it’s a really good idea for you to leave as soon as you can.”

Hiddleston focused on Tom. “Why is that?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise,” Tom said.

Hiddleston smiled at Tom, looking him in the eyes. When Tom didn’t waver, Hiddleston dropped the game. “Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t intimidate you.”

“You scare the shit out of me, but I’m a little more angry than scared.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Hiddleston smiled at Robert. “Redheads, am I right?”

“Why are you still here?” Robert asked.

“All right, I’m going, and I’ll tell you why.”

“Must you?” Robert said under his breath.

“You can’t possibly be afraid of me,” Tom said.

“Oh, but I am. And I’m only telling you this because, sadly, we won’t be seeing one another again.” Hiddleston leaned forward. “I came to realize that you’re my weakness. As much as I might want you, it would be foolish to take you, though I could.” He looked over at Robert. “It wouldn’t be easy, but if I was willing to pay the price, I could do it. But I won’t. Sooner or later, one way or another, you’d be the death of me, Billy Joe.”

“My name is Tom.”

“Bravo,” Hiddleston said as he rose from his chair. “I really must be going.”

Tom stood up. “Just a second. You did save our lives after all. Bring it in.” He held out his arms.

Hiddleston hesitated for just a moment before accepting the hug.

“This is for Harrison,” Tom said in Hiddleston’s ear just before he kneed him in the crotch and pushed him away.

“Good shot,” Hiddleston said in a voice stretched tight by pain. “But you missed one.”

“Fuck off, Hiddles,” Tom said. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

To Robert’s surprise, the hit man fucked off. Robert looked at his phone, and then at Tom.

“Don’t,” Tom said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want any cops to die today.”

Robert put the phone down. “As you wish,” he said.

“I hope Ryan’s doing okay.”

“Hang on. Give me a second to throw my weight around again.” Robert picked the phone back up. He spoke briefly with someone before hanging up. “Detective Reynolds is still in surgery but the prognosis is good. Actually, he said it was very good. The bullet didn’t hit anything vital, but he lost too much blood. They’re just being really cautious. Because of the, you know, blood pressure thing.”

“Good. Do you mind if we wait around until he’s in a room?”

“Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to wait.”

Robert used his family’s influence to gain access to a private office with a sitting area. While Tom tried to nap, Robert arranged for his car to be picked up and then called his personal lawyer. Phil Coulson offered to come and deal with the police, and Robert took him up on it. After a lengthy conversation in which Robert told Phil everything he knew about recent events, they said goodbye. He then called his ex, Assistant District Attorney Paltrow. Gwyneth answered on the second ring and listened without interrupting as he brought her up to speed. She thanked him for the heads-up and assured him she’d be out in front of it. He thanked her and hung up. There were other calls he could make, but right now, he just wanted to sit quietly for a few minutes.

“Get everything taken care of?” Tom asked from the couch.

“Yes,” Robert said wearily. “I mean, no, but I need a break.”

“No shit.” Tom swung his feet to the floor and patted the couch cushion “Have a seat.”

Though there were several chairs, Robert sat beside Tom. “You sure you’re okay?”

Tom nodded. “I’d like to talk to Harrison, but it can wait until we find out about Ryan.”

“What happened?” Robert asked softly. “The last time you spoke to the detective, I could have sworn you hated his guts.”

“He’s not the guy I thought he was.”

“Like me?”

“No, he’s nothing like you.” Tom paused. “Oh, I see what you mean. Yeah, I had you figured wrong too.”

“You like me now, don’t you?” Robert teased gently. “I told you so.”

“Shut up.” Tom yawned. “I really hope Ryan is going to be okay.”

“He will be. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You will?”

“If these doctors fuck it up, I’ll buy better doctors.”

“I thought you hated him too.”

“Clearly, he changed your mind about him, so I can only assume he’s a being on the order of Superman crossed with Mother Teresa.”

“And John McClane.”

“Who?”

“Diehard? Whoopi-ki-ay?”

“Motherfucker.” Robert smiled as he stood up. “Lie back down. I’m going to make some more calls.”

Tom didn’t think he could possibly fall asleep, but he did. He woke with Robert’s voice in his ears.

“Tom.” Robert touched Tom’s shoulder and quickly drew back. “Ryan’s out of the woods. His blood pressure is normal, and he’s sleeping.”

“Can we see him?”

“Yes, we can, but only for a few seconds, okay?”

“I just need to know he’s okay. I need to see for myself.”

“I understand completely.” Robert looked at the blood-stained poncho. “I went to the gift shop and got you something,” he said. “So, you go ahead and take that off.”

Tom untied the rope belt and pulled off the blanket while Robert took something from a plastic shopping bag.

“Ta-da,” Robert said as he unfurled a T-shirt. “I’m sorry. The only one they had that looked like it would fit you was pink.”

“I don’t give a shit.” Tom took the shirt and pulled it over his head. He smoothed down the front emblazoned with the caduceus staff. “It’s kind of cool.”

“Come on,” Robert said. “We can look in on Detective Reynolds and then we can go home.”

“What about the cops? They’ll want to talk to us.”

“My lawyer will set it up.” Robert smiled as they walked into the hallway. “You might not appreciate it yet, but you’ll find that being my friend has many excellent benefits.”

“Whatever. You saved Harrison, so you’re a hero as far as I’m concerned.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m lying.”

Robert chuckled. “No, you aren’t. You meant that shit, and you can’t take it back. I’m your hero.” He stopped where the corridor branched and approached a nurses’ station. After a few moments, he and Tom were escorted into the ICU unit.

“He’s sleeping well,” the nurse said. “Well on the way to recovery. We only kept him here because he’s easy on the eyes.”

Tom smiled at that, though he didn’t take his eyes from the man in the bed. He agilely avoided the tubing, cords, and machinery as he moved closer. Robert obligingly deployed his charm to keep the nurse distracted.

“I am so glad you’re gonna make it,” Tom said. He reached out and touched Ryan’s foot. “Thanks, man.”

“Time’s up,” the nurse said.

Tom turned and joined Robert. He didn’t speak as they left the intensive care unit and made their way to the hospital entrance. He leaned against one of the porte cochère columns while Robert made another phone call. Ten minutes later, a cab arrived and took them to a car rental agency. Forty minutes later, they were sitting in a BMW sedan arguing.

“I want to stay here,” Tom repeated.

“I can’t just leave you here. You’re coming home with me. You’re going to have a shower, and I’ll loan you some clothes. I left instructions for the hospital to call as soon as he’s awake.”

“But we’ll be at least an hour away.”

Robert pursed his lips in thought. “I suppose we could find a decent hotel and maybe even a passable restaurant, but what about clothes?”

“Oh, come on, there has to be a Wal-Mart somewhere around here.”

Robert shuddered. “No. Not under any circumstances.”

“The clothes are for me, not for you.”

“But I’d be the one looking at you.”

Tom looked down at his pink T-shirt and filthy jeans.

“Shit.” Robert sighed and took out his phone. “Hallelujah. There’s an outlet mall a few miles up the interstate.” He chortled. “They have an Armani Exchange and a Calvin Klein store.”

“Wow, really?” Tom said sarcastically.

They ended up at the American Eagle outlet. Robert left Tom with a young associate named Hailey who had orders to put together three outfits and see that Tom tried them on. She was a pro and her pleasant expression didn’t even waver when she took in the torn, grimy jeans and gift shop T-shirt. She pointed Robert to a comfortable waiting area and got to work. A half hour later, Robert paid the bill and they left the store. Tom was wearing trousers and a T-shirt in washed-out colors that made him look like he spent his mornings riding tasty waves.

“How hungry are you?” Robert asked when they got in the rental car. “Do you want to drop the rest of the clothes at the hotel or eat first?”

“Whatever you want. I’ve pushed you around enough for one day.”

“I’m glad you realized that on your own.”

“And thanks for the new clothes.”

“You can pay me back.”

“I will.” Tom paused. “I’d really like a shower before we eat.”

“A very reasonable request.” Robert put the car in gear.

After cleaning up at the Embassy Suites, Robert drove them to a local restaurant with a good Yelp rating. It was a country clubby surf-and-turf place, but Robert was immediately impressed by the service. He was given the out-of-the-way table he requested, and the wine list wasn’t abysmal. Their server informed them of the day’s specials, took their orders, and left to return with Robert’s glass of pinot noir.

Robert took a sip and then set the glass down. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“I will, but first, how in the hell did you and Hiddles end up saving our asses?”

“He was waiting for me when I got home from admitting Harrison to rehab.” Robert paused. “He convinced me to take him to you.”

“How?”

“I believed him when he said he wanted to kill his boss more than he wanted to kill me or you.”

“Makes sense.”

Tom and Robert fell quiet while the server set plates in front of them, inquired if they needed anything else, and left them to enjoy their meal.

“He was kind of an interesting guy,” Tom said around a bite of prime rib.

“That’s one word for him.” Robert dipped a chunk of lobster tail in garlic butter. “There’s also sinister, cruel, and cold-blooded.”

“He wasn’t a liar or a pervert though.”

“Killing is okay but lying is out?”

“I’m not saying this very well, am I?”

Robert swallowed a bite of lobster. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“It’s dumb, but I could have put up with Hiddles, you know? Hugo? No way.”

“You’re saying there are degrees of monster… ness?”

“I guess.” Tom frowned. “It does sound dumb.”

“I can’t address that. I don’t have your frame of reference. However, if you feel some sort of gratitude to the man, don’t let it bother you. I feel the same. He killed people for money, but in the end, he killed the right person.”

“Yeah. That’s it. You’re smart.”

“I have my moments.” Robert sipped his wine.

“I can’t help wondering what you guys talked about on the way to the cabin,” Tom said. “Damn, I forgot to ask for ketchup.”

“Try dipping your fries in the horseradish sauce.”

Tom did. “Not bad, but I’d rather have ketchup. Or cocktail sauce.”

Robert passed Tom the ramekin of cocktail sauce he wasn’t using on his shrimp. “We talked about you, if you must know.”

Tom was stuffing more French fries in his mouth. He raised his eyebrows at Robert.

“You had a real admirer in him,” Robert said. “He confessed to me that he fucked his boss over because of you. He made it sound like a Greek tragedy of epic proportions. His honor and loyalty versus his grand passion and more nonsense like that.”

“Hugo was a little hung up on me too. Weird.”

“I’d hate to think that you attract sociopaths. What would that say about me?”

Tom smiled. “You’re right. I do like you.”

“I told you.” Robert returned the smile. “So how soon do you think we can get back to work?”

“I just need to know Ryan’s taken care of, and then I’m all yours.”

“Be still my heart.”

Tom rolled his eyes in lieu of throwing a calamari ring at Robert. He figured it wasn’t appropriate for the setting. “You know, Harrison’s a real looker.”

“Yes, he is. I can imagine he’s quite stunning when he’s healthy.”

“I’m just sayin’, he’d probably be a good model.”

“No doubt, but he’s not what I’m looking for.” Robert took another sip of wine. “Okay, here’s what I’ll do, if Harrison agrees. I’ll make sure he has a professional portfolio, and I’ll hook him up with an agent who owes me. If he can’t get work, I’ll lose faith in an ordered universe.”

“That would be awesome.”

“We’ve got to get through this mess first, and he has to get well. Meanwhile, I want you to do a show for me.”

“Like a runway show?”

“Oh good, you know what that is.”

“Are you kidding? RuPaul’s Drag Race is a thing.”

Robert laughed, as he glanced at Tom’s empty plate. “You want to order something else? Dessert?”

“I would love that.”

The server returned with perfect timing and two dessert menus. Robert indulged in a coffee with Irish crème and a dish of vanilla ice cream. Tom ordered the lemon meringue pie and at Robert’s urging the three-flavor sherbet dish.

“That was nice,” Robert said after paying the bill. “Just sitting here like two normal people having a nice meal and talking about contract killers. Could you get used to this?”

“Are you kidding? Do you think I’d rather live in a warehouse turning tricks and watching my best friend become a junkie?”

“I hope not.” Robert stood up. “Because you look absolutely perfect in my clothes.”

Tom followed Robert out of the restaurant. “Aren’t models supposed to be tall? Like Harrison?”

Robert unlocked the car. “Yeah, usually. But sometimes a person just has a look that’s right for a particular style.”

“What’s my style?”

“My spring line is high-end sportswear for affluent young adults who think Burberry is too stuffy and Ralph Lauren is too nautical.”

“That means fuck-all to me. Are we talking hipster?”

“What? No!” Robert backed the car up and pulled onto the road. “You’ve seen some of my designs. Do they look hipster to you?”

“Little bit.”

Robert was quiet for a minute. “Is it possible you’re fucking with me?”

“Little bit.”

“Brat.”

Tom chuckled. “You’re right. This is nice. And I’m not sucking up to you.”

“I would never think you were sucking up. I can’t even imagine how bad you’d be at it.”

“It’s all kind of hard to believe.”

“What’s that?” Robert asked as he pulled into the hotel parking lot.

“Well, in the past few days, I met some new people. Some of them wanted to hurt me. Some of them wanted to protect me. One of them is offering me a new life. So really bad stuff and really good stuff at the same time.”

“Too good to be true?” Robert parked and looked over at Tom. “As soon as I talk to Phil again, I’ll have him draft a contract. Then it’ll be real.”

“Are you sure? I mean, what do you know about me? Besides that I’m a street kid with no i.d.?”

“How many ways do I have to say it? You have the perfect look, build, and attitude for my line. I need you. I don’t care if you don’t have a driver’s license. The city is full of cabs and limos. I’ll hear no more about this.”

Robert waited until they were on the elevator to speak again. “You still haven’t told me what happened.”

They were in the room before Tom answered. “Hugo and his assholes showed up and started shooting. We took off into the woods. Had to spend the night out there because we got lost.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What kind of cop is this guy?”

“He’s not Daniel Boone, that’s for sure.” Tom smiled. “He felt really bad about it. It’s funny when a guy calls himself a douche bag with the brains god gave a banana slug.”

“That is kind of funny.” Robert paused. “I’m going to get comfortable, okay?”

“Does that mean we can sit around in our underwear?”

“If you want, but the hotel provided a couple of robes.”

“No shit?”

Robert went to the closet and took out two plush, terry robes. He tossed one to Tom.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before when I was taking a shower?”

“We were in a hurry.” Robert hung his shirt, trousers, and sport jacket in the closet and came back wearing a robe and his briefs. He stretched out on one of the two queen-sized beds and sighed. “Could I talk you into handing me the remote?”

Tom fetched the remote from the counter under the television and brought it to Robert. Robert propped himself on a few of the plump pillows and turned on the TV.

“Crap,” Tom said. “I should have got a soda from the machine before I got undressed.”

“Check the minibar.”

“Really? I thought they were super expensive.”

“I’m pretty rich. Rich enough to buy snacks from the minibar anyway.”

“Sweet!” Tom opened the small fridge and looked inside. “Man, Harrison would love this.”

“You’re sweet,” Robert said. “Whether you want to be or not.”

“If you say so.” Tom took out a can of orange soda.

“Hey, I’m not coming on to you.” Robert looked away from the screen. “I think we both know that it would be smarter if sex wasn’t part of our relationship dynamic.”

“Probably right, but just so you know, I’d put out for you anytime.”

“Jesus.” Robert feigned a heart attack. “I take back what I said about you being sweet. That was evil.”

“What’s this show?” Tom said, while pointing to the TV.

“You haven’t seen Big Bang Theory? Sit down and prepare to laugh.”

Two hours later, the syndicated Big Bang Theory block ended. Robert surfed around while he and Tom talked about how great BBT was.

“How is it only ten o’clock?” Robert said. “It feels like it’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah, it does.” Tom slipped the robe off tossed it on the end of the bed. “I might try to sleep.”

“I’ll turn this off.”

“It won’t bother me.”

Robert muted the sound and idly watched the news until Tom’s soft, rhythmic breathing lulled him to sleep.


	16. Sixteen

Tom woke to Robert’s voice again. This time, he was speaking into the phone.

“No. Yes, it’s fine. I said to call no matter what time it was. Thank you. Yes. Thank you.” Robert hung up and put the phone on the nightstand. He noticed Tom’s eyes were open. “Get dressed. Ryan’s awake.”

Tom set a land-speed record for putting on clothes. The clock indicated 5:43 a.m. when he and Robert left the room.

At the hospital, an administrator who had a nephew in the district attorney’s office escorted Robert and Tom up to Ryan’s room. After expressing his wish that Robert would put in a good word with Miss Paltrow, he left them. The cop sitting outside the door had been briefed and let Robert and Tom in without a fuss.

Tom hurried over to the bed. “You look like shit,” he said.

“Then it’s not as bad as it feels,” Ryan said weakly. He raised his middle finger at Robert. “Sorry, that’s the only part of me I can move right now.”

“What a coincidence.” Robert smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“What a coincidence. Me too.” Ryan turned his gaze on Tom. “Hey, punk.”

“I’ll let you get away with it once,” Tom said. “Because I feel sorry for you.”

Ryan made a scoffing noise. “So, what happened after I got shot? Nobody will tell me squat.”

“I took the gun out of your pocket and shot Hugo,” Tom said.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember that. Pretty work. Fast forward to when I’m passed out in the back of the SUV.”

“Hugo wasn’t dead. He was going to kill you and do gross stuff to me, but Robert and Hiddles showed up and killed him. Then we brought you to this hospital. Hiddles drives like you, btw.”

“Everyone’s acting like I’m some kind of hero instead of a shithead who got his partner killed and then got lost in the woods with a material witness,” Ryan said.

“Damn,” Tom said. “I forgot about that part. Am I going to have to testify?”

“Uh, Hugo’s dead and Hiddleston is in the wind,” Robert said. “Who would they put on trial?”

“He’s right,” Ryan said. He met Tom’s gaze again. “Fuck I’m glad you’re all right.”

“I’m not the one who got himself shot.”

“That’s true, but thanks for rubbing it in.” Ryan smiled and winced. “Jesus, that hurts.”

“You need more pain meds?” Robert said immediately. “I can get a nurse.”

Ryan looked up at Robert. “Well look at you, all concerned about little old me.”

“Drop it,” Robert said. “Or don’t. I can’t tell you what to do. But I can tell you that this animosity you think we have between us isn’t real, so why perpetuate it?”

“Damn, girl,” Ryan said, as though Robert were Scarlett brought back to life. “Why you got to read me in public like that?”

Tom cracked up. “Now, I believe you’re going to be all right,” he said.

The cop outside knocked on the door. “Time to go,” he called out.

“I’ll look you up when I get out,” Ryan said.

“You better.” Tom moved reluctantly away.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan said. “We got unfinished business.”

Tom smiled. “Get better fast.”

“Ditto,” Robert said. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

“I will,” Ryan said, just before the cop knocked again to warn them.

Robert and Tom checked out of the hotel and drove back to the city. Tom was quiet, and Robert didn’t intrude on his silence. He had enough to think about.

Gwyneth and Phil were waiting in the building’s foyer when Robert and Tom got there.

“Is this some cruel joke?” Robert complained. “Well, you’re here, so come in and make yourselves at home. You know where the coffeemaker is.”

Robert took Tom’s arm and hustled him upstairs while Gwyneth and Phil went to the workroom kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked.

“The pretty blonde lady downstairs was once engaged to me. It would have been the wedding of the year among a certain crowd, but it didn’t work out. She’s like a sister to me, you know?”

Tom nodded.

“She’s also the Assistant DA.”

Tom’s eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Robert said. “The gentleman is my personal lawyer, Phil Coulson. Don’t let his mild-mannered act fool you. He’s the legal equivalent of our frenemy Hiddles… but with a heart. More of a tiger than a shark. A tiger shark.”

“Okay, but why did you drag me up here to tell me that?”

“They both love me in their own way, and they’re both very protective. I just want you to be prepared if they seem hostile.”

“I’m used to that.”

“Not anymore, you aren’t,” Robert said firmly. “Listen to me, Tom. I promise you; I’ll stand by you. I believe in you, and I believe you deserve the chance I’m giving you. Never doubt that.”

“Are you trying to make me cry?”

“Do you even know how?”

Tom laughed. “I’ve never known anybody like you,” he said.

“Well, that’s a relief, I must say.” Robert smiled. “Do you want another minute before we go down? Shot of whisky? A Xanax?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Great. When we’re done here; we’ll call and see if you can talk to Harrison.”

Robert basked in Tom’s delight at this statement and reflected that making other people happy felt pretty damned good. He ought to do it more often.

“Robert!” Gwyneth called.

“Coming, dear,” Robert called back.

Robert kissed Gwyneth’s cheek and gave Phil a hug.

“Mr. Holland,” I presume,” Gwyneth said, eyeing Tom.

“Me too,” Tom said. “I’m not really sure though.”

Gwyneth resisted the urge to smile. It wasn’t an amusing situation. “When Robert gave me your name, I immediately put a couple of my best researchers on it. We got your fingerprints and DNA from saliva on a coffee cup we found in the sink over there.” She pointed. “With Robert’s permission of course.”

Robert shrugged. “Years ago, I gave her blanket permission to enter any of my residences.”

“As it turns out, your name is Tom Holland, or Thomas Stanley Holland to be precise, born June first 1996.” Gwyneth met Tom’s gaze. “I wish I could tell you I found your family.”

“What did you find?” Tom asked cautiously.

“Your parents, Dominic and Nicole, reported you missing a few days before your seventh birthday. At that time, you lived in London. It’s anybody’s guess how you ended up here. I mean, obviously you were kidnapped, and most likely trafficked, but no idea why here and not somewhere else.”

“You know my parents’ names but not where they are?”

“No, we know where they are.”

Tom picked up on her tone. “They’re dead,” he said.

“I’m afraid so,” Gwyneth said.

“How? How did they die?”

Gwyneth cleared her throat, but Phil answered.

“Your mother apparently felt responsible for losing you,” he said. “She took her own life five years after you disappeared. A year later, your father went out sailing and never came back. The boat was found drifting in open water.”

“Jesus,” Robert said. In an instinctive gesture of comfort, he put a hand over Tom’s where it rested on the table.

Tom resisted the urge to pull away and admitted to himself that the warmth of Robert’s touch felt good. It made him feel as though he was anchored here somehow, that he wasn’t just drifting alone. A tear splashed the back of Robert’s hand, and Tom looked at it in surprise, unaware he was crying. More tears fell, and then Robert pulled Tom into a hug. Tom leaned on Robert’s strength until he got himself under control again.

“Well, I guess now we know,” Tom said as he dragged his sleeve across his eyes. The words meaning different things to Robert and Gwyneth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Gwyneth said. “I can’t even imagine how I’d react.”

“What’s next?” Robert asked.

“I’ll take this question,” Phil said. “Gwyn has talked to the officers in charge of this case and explained that you’re special.” He smiled thinly. “They don’t like it, of course, but they’ve agreed to our conditions.”

“We have conditions?” Tom said.

“Very reasonable conditions,” Phil amended. “You won’t be going down to the station to be intimidated in an interrogation room. The detectives will question you right here, or anywhere else you’d feel comfortable.”

“I’d feel very comfortable in Hawaii,” Tom said promptly.

“And there it is,” Robert said. He smiled at Phil. “He’s not scared of you anymore.”

Tom made a scoffing noise. “You thought I was scared of him?”

Phil smiled. “I’m afraid Hawaii isn’t an option, though I like the way you think.”

“Here’s fine,” Tom said. He looked over at Robert. “If it’s okay with you.”

“I’ll make sure I have coffeecake on hand,” Robert said.

“You’d have better luck with doughnuts,” Gwyneth joked.

Phil cleared his throat and got them back on track. “Tom, it would be best if you simply told the police everything you can remember. Neither you nor Robert has anything to hide.” He gave Tom that sliver of a smile again. “The police are going to be upset that you didn’t call them sooner, but of course, a hostage’s life was as stake, so they won’t go too hard on you.” He fixed his pale blue eyes on Tom. “If they do go hard on you, you be sure to let me know about it.”

Tom got that “hair on the back of the neck standing up” feeling. “I will,” he said meekly.

“Good.” Phil smiled and the chill left the air. “When would be convenient?”

“As soon as possible, don’t you think?” Gwyneth interjected. “While the memories are fresh.”

“I’m ready now,” Tom said.

Robert groaned. “I think tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

“It’s early. We’ve got all day,” Tom said. “Why not get it over with?”

Robert sighed and capitulated. “But not until after lunch, say two or three.”

“I’ll set it up,” Phil said.

“One more thing,” Gwyneth said. “The police will be asking about an informant. Someone told Hugo where Tom and Detective Reynolds were hiding. Captain Evans thinks the leak is in his squad room. So, if you remember any names….”

“They didn’t talk a lot in front of me,” Tom said. “But I’ll tell the cops everything I know.”

“Good,” Phil and Gwyneth said at the same time. They smiled at one another.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Gwyneth asked Robert. “I could request a patrol car cruise your block every fifteen minutes. You know what? I’m going to do that right now.” She took out her phone.

“On a personal note,” Phil said to Robert and Tom. “I’d like to say I admire how you handled yourselves. I’m basing that on the fact that Hugo Weaving and Tom Hiddleston were involved and you’re both still alive. I can’t wait to hear the story, but I’ll get out of here and let you relax before the detectives show up.”

“Not before two,” Robert stressed.

“I got it.” Phil stood and shouldered his work bag. He wiggled his fingers at Gwyneth in farewell and let himself out.

“I see what you mean about him,” Tom said, just as Gwyneth ended her call.

“Are we talking about Phil?” she asked.

“Yeah, he’s kind of spooky,” Tom said.

“Nonsense, he’s a lamb.” Gwyneth smiled at Robert. “Okay, here’s what I’ve done for you, you excessively charming hound. The local P.D. will make regular patrols of this block. You can have a couple of uniforms stationed at the entrances to the building, but I thought you’d object. What happened to that guy you pretended was your bodyguard?”

“He was my bodyguard. He had a license and everything. To answer your question, Chris has his own security company now. Valhalla International Protection.”

“VIP, how clever,” Gwyneth said unconvincingly. “Why don’t you call him? Invite him over for a couple of days? I remember him as highly dedicated to guarding your body.”

“Please,” Robert said, nodding toward Tom. “Not in front of the child.”

“Bite me,” Tom said.

“Well put, Tom.” Gwyneth smiled again. “I’ll be going then. We ought to have dinner more than once a year, you know.”

“Come over next weekend. I’ll cook.”

“I’ll call you.” Gwyneth rose and kissed Robert’s cheek when he came to walk her to the door. “Tom, a pleasure meeting you face to face.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom said, abruptly getting to his feet. “Have a, uh, nice day.”

Gwyneth chuckled. “Goodbye, Robert. Have fun,” she said, and then she was out the door.

Robert turned to face Tom. “If it means anything, my friends like you,” he said.

“Good, I guess. I wouldn’t want them to hate me.”

“No worries. Believe me, they were judging you, and they liked what they saw. That’s going to make things so much easier.”

“What things?”

“Duh. Things like dinner and the runway show. And parties. There’ll be a lot of parties.”

“Cool,” Tom said, but he didn’t sound like he meant it. “When can I visit Harrison?”

“No visitors for the first week. Sorry, but that’s the rule.”

“A week?” Tom sounded stricken.

“It’ll go by fast. I’m going to put you to work. By the time Harrison gets out of the rehab, you’ll have enough in the bank to rent a place. My word on it.”

Tom bit his lip. It would be hard, but he’d lived through worse. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it… unless I go there and break him out.” He smiled at Robert’s expression. “Relax. It’s a joke.”

“You know….” Robert paused in a consciously reflective pose, clever fingers stroking his elegant beard. “You went from surly to sassy, and I just can’t decide which I like better.”

Tom laughed. “Why not both?” he said.

“Why not indeed? Now come on over to the studio. I want you in something else when the cops get here.”

“Why?”

“Because presentation is a thing. I thought you said you watched RuPaul. Did you learn nothing?”

“Yeah, I learned I never want to tuck my junk. Me and Harrison tried it for a laugh. Man, was it uncomfortable. I couldn’t take more than five minutes of trying to walk in heels with my cock and balls jammed in my crack and smooshed in a pair of pantyhose. Respect to all queens.”

“I did drag for a while, also briefly,” Robert said as he led Tom to the clothes rack. “A very brief run at a speakeasy owned by an old friend.”

“A what?”

“A bar. It was a kind of cabaret. Do you know what a cabaret is?”

“More or less.”

“Go ahead and undress,” Robert said.

Tom only hesitated for a couple of seconds before stripping down to his boxer briefs. He stood, rocking gently from foot to foot, and watched Robert pull hangers off a rack. He didn’t let himself think about everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. He didn’t think about Harrison. He didn’t think about Ryan. He pushed it all out and let the present wash over him. He thought the colors of the clothes were nice. Classy.

“Come.” Robert beckoned, and Tom took the button-down shirt he held out.

The fabric was a soft mint green and slithered down his arms in a way that was quite sensual. He managed to not flinch when Robert did up the buttons down the front and adjusted the cuffs. He pulled on a pair of charcoal grey trousers that hugged the curves of his thighs and calves.

“Nope,” Robert said. “Those pants look amazing on you, but let’s give the police something else to look at.” He handed Tom another pair in lighter grey with a fuller cut. “Perfect.”

Tom looked in the full-length mirror. “You made me look respectable.”

“Yeah, sorry, but I think the law will appreciate it.” Robert tossed Tom a pair of socks. “Thank god, we wear the same shoe size. I’ll find a pair to go with that. Meanwhile, you can walk around in socks. Not like we’re going outside.” He glanced around like he’d lost something. “Why don’t I make pancakes?”

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t. Pancakes are awesome.”

“Want to help with brunch?”

“I’ll give it a try.”


	17. Seventeen

Robert pushed his plate away and sighed. “I haven’t eaten this badly in years,” he said with great satisfaction.

“Yeah, bacon, sausage, _and_ ham might have been a bit much.” Tom smiled. “You can cook a pancake though, I gotta say.” He wiped syrup from his chin and started to say something else, something about fluffiness, but Robert’s phone rang. Tom waited quietly and finished his juice while Robert took the call.

“That was Gwyneth,” Robert said when he sat down again. “With a few interesting developments. A man matching Hiddleston’s general appearance stole a Falconair jet from a little airport upstate. He knew what he was doing because he disabled the thingie that lets you track the plane. No one has seen a trace of it since. She also called my old friend—” Robert broke off when his phone rang again. “It’s Phil,” he said. “I have to take this.”

Tom took his plate and Robert’s to the sink and washed them along with the silverware. When he finished drying them, he turned to see Robert was finished with his call.

“The police will be here in an hour,” Robert said. “What shall we do until then? Should we Home Alone the cops? Set a few harmless but hilarious booby traps?”

“Maybe not. And for the record, those booby traps in Home Alone were _not_ harmless.”

“Probably right. How would you feel about doing a little work?”

“Might as well.”

For the next forty-five minutes, Robert took photos of Tom in various lighting setups, downloaded the images, and fiddled with them. Tom looked over Robert’s shoulder, caught between fascination and embarrassment.

An alarm chimed and Robert looked up from the screen. “Ten-minute warning,” he said. “Let’s get ready for the cops.”

“How do we do that?”

“We make coffee and see what kind of cookies we have, just like last time. I’ll handle the coffee. You play Find the Cookies.”

Tom gave Robert an amused look. “Find the Cookies? Really?”

Robert sniffed indignantly “I was being literal.”

“Just checking.”

Tom found a Tupperware container of assorted cookies, and Robert dumped a third of them on a platter. Tom snagged a peanut butter cookie and got out of the way while Robert set out cups, spoons, and saucers, milk and cream in little matching Holstein pitchers, and a sugar bowl, as well as honey in a cute ceramic beehive.

“I wonder if they’ll want tea. I don’t have fresh lemon.”

“You truly are the gayest person I’ve ever met,” Tom said.

“Thank you.” Robert stood back and then stepped forward to rearrange the cookies. He looked up when the doorbell rang. “Wait here. I’ll get it,” he said.

Robert came back with a man and woman wearing nearly identical navy suits with baby blue shirts and striped ties. “Detectives Law and Larsen,” he told Tom.

“Law?” Tom said. “That’s a great name for a police… person.”

“I’m Detective Law,” said the man with the thinning blond hair and big gray eyes.

“I’m Larsen,” said the wholesomely attractive young woman. “As you know, we’re here to interview both of you.”

“Right this way,” Robert said. “I thought we’d be comfortable enough here.”

They sat and Robert went through process of offering refreshments, being turned down, insisting, and eventually serving coffee and cookies. As they sipped and nibbled, Tom gave his account of recent events starting from the moment Hiddleston picked him up.

“Jeez Louise,” Larsen said. “That’s some story, Tom.”

“I can corroborate most of it,” Robert offered. “Detective Reynolds can vouch for the rest.”

“Thanks, Mr. Downey,” she said. “I hope it didn’t sound like I was doubting anyone.”

“I would doubt me,” Tom said frankly. “It’s not like I have some great reputation or something.” He paused. “I’m not lying, though. It happened just like I told you.”

“We’ve spoken with Detective Reynolds,” Law said. “He said to say _Don’t screw around, punk_.”

Tom almost smiled, but something about Detective Law made his skin crawl, the same way Dandy had made his skin crawl. “How is he?” Tom asked.

“He’s doing well. It’ll be a while before he’s back on the job, but he’ll be one hundred percent again in about six months, best guess,” Larsen said. “The nurses said he’s feisty. That’s a good sign. He just needs to stop blaming himself for this mess.”

“It’s Hugo Weaving’s mess,” Tom said. “Too bad he’s dead.”

Robert gave Tom a dubious look.

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Tom said.

“Okay,” Law said after a brief silence. “I think we got everything we needed.”

“There’s one more thing,” Larsen said. “The rat.”

“Right.” Law nodded. “Tom, when you were with Weaving, did he talk to anyone, make any phone calls that would make you think he had an informant? Someone on the inside that could have fed him your location?”

“He didn’t do a lot of talking around me,” Tom said. “His mind wasn’t on business.”

“I’m really glad you weren’t… hurt,” Larsen said. “And I hope you recover from this… experience and have a great life.”

Tom heard nothing but sincerity in her voice. “Thanks,” he said. “Really. Thanks.”

“You’re sure you didn’t hear or see anything that seemed off to you?” Law asked.

“Everything about that guy was off,” Tom said.

“Well, he won’t be hurting anyone again,” Law said. “I guess all’s well that ends well.”

“It didn’t end well for Terry Z and Noldo or for Dandy or Detective Johansson,” Tom said. “Not to mention Detective Reynolds.”

“I didn’t mean—” Law broke off and looked to his partner.

“We don’t mean to sound insensitive,” Larsen said. “But we’ve only been on the case for about five minutes. We might not have as much background as we could, but you’ve helped a lot. We’ll get up to speed, don’t you worry.” She held Tom’s gaze. “We’ll make sure that Weaving’s organization is taken down and everyone is prosecuted.”

“Thanks,” Tom said again as the officers got to their feet. He stood with Robert at his side. “Could you let us know how it goes?”

“Oh, I’m sure ADA Paltrow will keep you in the loop,” Law said.

The detective’s voice and tone were pleasant, but once again, Tom caught an undercurrent of something like a hint of dead fish on the sea breeze. He avoided shaking hands by picking up a couple of the empty coffee cups when Law and Larsen said goodbye. He thought about mentioning it to Robert, but it was just a weird feeling.

“You don’t have to clean up,” Robert said, as Tom began putting dishes in the dishwasher.

“It’s kind of a habit. I like to be busy.”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Tom turned to face Robert. “This sounds serious.”

“It is. You need time to prepare?” Robert smiled to show he was joking.

Tom smiled a natural, unforced smile devoid of artifice or any intent other than to convey his happiness. “I’d like my attorney to sit in,” he said.

Robert chuckled. “Step into my office,” he said, waving a hand at the lounge area.

Tom sat on a chair opposite Robert on the couch. Robert had his serious face on and Tom was a little nervous. Maybe all this _was_ too good to be true. Maybe this was the moment he found out what the catch was. He really wanted to trust Robert, but he’d been betrayed a few too many times.

“So, I mentioned a contract to you,” Robert said. “I’d like to present my terms before we commit it to paper, okay? That way, we can thrash things out and I can tart them up for Phil. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

“I still hear suspicion in your voice,” Robert said. “It’s completely understandable, but it makes me so sad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. I’m sorry that you had the kind of life that makes you wary of a kind gesture, that’s all. I don’t pity you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I did, kind of, because, yeah, my life sucked, but I did the best I could with what I had. I’m not ashamed of myself or anything like that.”

“Good. I had a feeling you were too intelligent to fall into that ‘it’s all my fault’ trap.”

“No disrespect, but I don’t think smarts have much to with it. You can read all the psych books you want, but they can’t tell you how to change the way you feel. Even if you understand the underlying causality, it doesn’t always—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Robert held up his hands in a sporting gesture for a time-out. “I asked you once where you were educated and you dodged the question, but I have to know.”

Tom shrugged. “I spend most of my free time at the library. I’m on the computers mostly, but sometimes, you know, you just want a quiet place. I did a lot of reading in the winter, watched a lot of movies. Harrison did a lot of napping.”

“Speaking of him, I’ll be getting an update from his therapist sometime this afternoon.”

“Awesome.”

“And now back to the negotiations. My first condition is that you’re exclusive to me for one year. I’d like five, but that wouldn’t be fair to you. So, to be clear, for twelve months you’ll model my line and my line only. After that, you’ll be a free agent. My salary offer is fifty-five thousand for the year, but after that you can charge anywhere from fifty to five hundred an hour.”

“No shit?”

“Negative feces.”

“Fifty-five thousand _dollars_?”

“That’s your net. My company pays the taxes. You’ll have health benefits as well. Also, there’s a garage apartment behind this building that you can live in. In fact, I’d prefer it if you were close to hand. So… do you want to be a model or a personal assistant?”

“Why not both?”

“I’d have to adjust your salary.” Robert paused. “Or I can give you a discretionary account. Yeah, let’s do that. Anyway, we’ll try it and see how it works out. Who knows? Maybe Harrison will want the job.”

“That’s an awesome idea, but it would work so much better for me if Harrison was the model and I was the assistant.”

“Sometimes life is like that.” Robert smiled. “And sometimes, it’s like this. We’ve talked about the salary and housing. You’ll also have a company vehicle, so we have to do something about getting you a driver’s license.”

Tom smiled. “Or I can make Harrison my driver.”

“I can tell it’s important for you to have him around.” Robert paused. “I’m… I’m really sorry about your family. At the risk of sounding even gayer, I hope you decide to make me part of your chosen family.”

“It’s getting a little deep now,” Tom said.

“Okay, can we talk about Detective Reynolds for a minute?”

“Sure, but why?”

“I feel like you might have a mild case of hero worship, and I wanted to warn you about getting attached. I mean, this is one case out of many for him.”

“Uh, where is this coming from?”

Robert studied Tom’s face for a few seconds. “Never mind,” he said. “That was way over the line. Forget I brought it up.”

“I’ll do my best.” Tom’s puzzled expression smoothed out. “Just so we’re on the same page, I’m not looking for a dad.” He smiled slightly. “That’s not one of my issues.”

“Okay. Noted. I’ll curb my paternal urges. I mean, if I ever have one.” Robert smiled. “So, do we have a deal?”

“Hm, do I want to let you hand me a pile of money for playing dress-up? Let me think.”

“I’m also handing you a place to live, a car, and a career for your pal.”

“When you put it that way, how can I say no?”

Tom found working for Robert to be a heady blend of creative chaos followed by organized chaos involving a runway audience, bright lights, and a glamorous after party with trendy cocktails. And that was just the first week.

Two days after his first show, he and Robert drove out to visit Harrison. The rehab center was in a rural area and resembled a country club without a golf course—though the broad, closely clipped lawns gave the impression of one. Harrison had been informed of the visit and was waiting for them on one of the many patio areas.

Robert stood back and watched Tom run to join his friend. Harrison stood to receive the impact of an enthusiastic hug and put his arms around Tom. They stayed that way for several moments and then Harrison acknowledged Robert.

“Hey, Mr. Downey. Great to see you again.” Harrison let go of Tom but kept an arm around him. “You guys want to sit? They put like a pitcher of ice-water and some plastic cups out.”

“If you want time alone, I can wait somewhere else,” Robert said.

“Don’t be crazy. Sit,” Harrison said.

“You look great,” Tom said. “You’ve put on weight, and you sound more like yourself too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a total drag. Sorry.”

“Not your fault, man,” Tom said. “I’m just so glad you’re better.”

“I’m healthier, that’s for sure. The food here is amazing.”

“So, you’re okay here?”

“Absolutely. Would I rather be out running around? Sure. But this is the smart play.”

“It damn sure is,” Tom said. “Maybe you ought to thank Robert.”

Harrison looked from Tom to Robert and back again. “Robert, huh? No more Mr. Downey?”

“Please call me Robert,” Robert invited.

“Okay,” Harrison said. “I really appreciate what you did for me, Robert, but now, I’m kind of wondering why you’re doing it.”

“Harrison,” Tom said. “It’s cool.”

“Is it?” Harrison met Tom’s gaze. “How are you buying this for me? Tell me the truth. What’s it costing you?”

“Hang on a minute,” Robert said at the same time Tom said, “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then?” Harrison asked. “Because ever since we met, you’ve been doing this, Tommy. And I let you, but it stops now.”

“Damn right it does.” Tom smiled. “Robert doesn’t want to fuck me, man.”

“That might be an overstatement,” Robert said. “But if we were ever to have that sort of relationship, it would be because you wanted it.”

“For reals, Tommy?”

“Pinky swear,” Tom said. “I’m beginning to believe it’s just possible that not everyone is out to use me in some way.”

“Oh, I’ll use you,” Robert said. “You’re going to be stomping the runway in my fabulous clothes when you aren’t inspiring me.”

Tom laughed, and Harrison joined in. It took Robert a moment to recognize the warm feeling flooding his chest. He was grateful to be in a position to help someone who deserved it. What had begun as one of his many whimsical choices had proved to be a life-altering decision. And he was good with that. For now, he was content to sit here in the shade and listen to two good friends talk about nothing in particular.


	18. Eighteen

Three months later, Robert held the premiere showing of his spring line for young men. The event was held at the Museum of Tibetan Art, and a runway was set up in the main hall with rows of chairs on either side. The Tibetan art and the golden Buddhist shrine were rich backgrounds for the show Robert planned to put on. It was a small collection, and he had only two models, but he made up in glamor what he lacked in substance. The picked audience of society doyens and haute couture mavens sipped free cocktails and noshed on twee hors d’oeuvres as they sat in judgement. Afterward, Robert held court, accepting the compliments of his peers and admirers, while Tom and Harrison stood to the side snaffling free beer.

“As gigs go, this one doesn’t suck,” Harrison said before filling his mouth with a miniature lobster quiche.

“Slow down, man. You’ll lose that boyish figure.”

“Nah, I’m going to get some weights and start lifting.”

“Yeah?”

“You interested in being my gym partner?”

“I bet I get ripped before you.”

“I bet you do too.” Harrison smiled easily. “Overachiever.”

“Skank ho.”

“Yikes! That sure escalated.”

“You know you love it.”

Harrison laughed. “Does it show?” He looked down at his crotch.

Abruptly, Tom’s face went blank and then he broke into a grin that was like the sun coming over the horizon. Harrison turned to see what Tom was looking at and beheld Detective Ryan Reynolds coming toward them.

“Sweet moves,” Harrison said under his breath. “Who is he?”

“Fuck off. This one’s mine,” Tom said from the side of his mouth, and then Ryan was standing in front of him.

“Late to the party, as usual,” Ryan said.

“I’m just glad you could make it,” Tom said, as if he’d seen Ryan yesterday. “This is my best friend, Harrison.”

Ryan shook hands with Harrison and then turned his attention back to Tom. “So, you don’t call, you don’t write.”

“What?” Tom was genuinely confused by the reference.

“Forget it. It’s an old joke.”

“How are you?” Tom asked. “All healed up?”

“I’m doing really well. Not back on active duty yet, but I’m working. I understand you talked to Law and Larsen.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that go?”

“Fine,” Tom said. He hesitated and then continued. “She was really nice but he was kind of creepy.”

Ryan didn’t dismiss Tom’s remark. “Creepy how?” he asked as though the answer meant something to him.

“Something about him reminded me of Dandy Andy,” Tom said. He glanced at Harrison.

“Dandy would sell the gold teeth out of his grandma’s mouth,” Harrison said.

“Yeah.” Tom nodded. “Like, there wasn’t anything too sleazy for him.”

“I concur,” Ryan said. “Having a bad feeling isn’t much to go on, but it’s enough to motivate me to take a long, hard look at him. He just feels dirty to me.”

“That’s what I call solid policework,” Tom said.

“Eat my shorts, punk.”

Harrison chuckled. “I like him, Tommy.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “Now that business is out of the way, I’d like to talk to you in private when you have time.”

“I have time right now,” Tom said. “Robert will be basking for a while.”

“I’ll go bask with him,” Harrison said. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.” He gave Ryan a dazzling smile before he left.

Ryan watched Harrison walk away. “What was that?” he said.

“Just my best friend being a dick. You want a beer or something? It’s free.”

“No thanks. Technically on-duty. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Yeah, come with me.” Tom led Ryan to the temple’s shrine room. “What do you want to talk about?”

Ryan tore his gaze from the opulent gold vessels and statues of the altar. “Um, I just wanted to keep in touch, you know? For the record, I’m just a little hurt you never came to visit me in something like ten weeks.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered while you were, you know, recuperating.”

“Well, that’s just typical of this generation. So fucking considerate.” Ryan sighed heavily.

“So… you want to hang out sometime?”

“That would be nice, but I really need to have this talk first, okay? If you don’t want to do it now, pick a time.”

“You’re starting to make me nervous.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what I want. This is stupid. I knew it was stupid, but here I am. I think the best move would be for me to disappear and never contact you again.”

“What? _Nooo._ Why?”

“It’s tricky.”

“Because you want to fuck me but I’m too young?”

Ryan’s eyes widened but he answered lightly. “Yeah. That.”

“Time passes, man. Can’t we be friends until I’m old enough to not squick you?”

“That’s a remarkably sensible solution.”

“Can we at least make out?”

“I’m in over my head, aren’t I?”

Tom smiled. “You look like a strong swimmer to me.”

“You’re killin’ me a little, you know that, right?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

That was too much for Ryan. He didn’t care that they were in public, more or less. He didn’t care how old Tom was or wasn’t. All he wanted was to put his arms around Tom and hold him again just once.

Tom returned the embrace warmly. “I like this… a lot,” he murmured against Ryan’s shoulder.

“I could do this all day,” Ryan replied before he let go. “But….”

Tom sighed. “Yeah, I get it. We’re on the down-low.” He smiled. “For now.”

“For now,” Ryan agreed. “I don’t know how that’s going to work, but I’d like to give it a try.”

“So, are we having the talk now?”

“Looks like it. I have a lot of shit to sort out, okay? Like whether I can still be a cop. Stuff like that.”

Tom nodded. “It’s a little easier for me. I just have to decide if I want to hook up with an old dude.”

“Good one, punk.”

“Can you come over tonight? I’ll make you dinner. Actually, I’m making dinner for everybody, but come, okay?”

“I don’t know. What are you cooking and are you any good?”

“Spaghetti, garlic bread, salad, and I’m awesome. Robert says I’m a natural in the kitchen. He could be lying, but I doubt it.”

“Tonight, huh?”

“Stop it. You know you’re coming.”

“What time?”

“Seven would be great.”

Ryan was there at six-fifty-five with a nice bottle of chianti and a lame joke about fava beans. He and Robert couldn’t resist exchanging a few zingers before they even got to the table. Harrison was setting a platter of garlic bread down and looked up with a bright smile.

“Ryan,” he said. “It’s great to see you again. You’re looking good.”

“Slow your roll, bitch,” Tom said.

“What?” Harrison said reproachfully.

“You know what.” Tom turned to Ryan. “You sit here,” he said.

Ryan sat and ate and enjoyed being part of the scene. The spaghetti sauce was homemade and the conversation was full of laughter. It would be nice to come home to something like this every night.

“So,” Robert said, as he poured more wine into Ryan’s glass. “You want to court our Tom.”

Ryan dropped his fork.

“Come on,” Tom said. “You and Harrison promised you wouldn’t do this.”

Robert looked at Harrison. “I don’t remember making any promises, do you?”

“I remember Tom being dickish and ordering us to leave Ryan alone.”

“I hate you both,” Tom said.

Ryan chuckled. “It’s okay. Let them give me shit. I have a feeling I should get used to it.”

“Yes, you should,” Robert said. “But we’ll be expecting an equal ration from you. Because, in the end, the shit you take is equal to the shit you make.”

“That was so bad,” Ryan said.

Tom and Harrison exchanged puzzled glances.

“Don’t sweat it, infants,” Robert said. “I fully intend to give you the cultural education you so clearly lack.”

“Amen to that,” Ryan said.

“Now, if Robert would just get horny for me,” Harrison said. “We could double-date.”

“No, we couldn’t,” Tom, Robert, and Ryan said at the same time.

“Well damn,” Harrison said and sulked prettily.

Tom ignored him. “Can you hang out?” he asked Ryan. “We could watch a movie or something.”

“There’s a pool table in the break area,” Robert said. “And a pinball machine. A dart board. Once, I spotted a foosball table lurking in a corner, but it could have been my imagination.”

“Outstanding,” Ryan said. “I could stay a while.”

“Coffee?” Robert offered.

Tom and Harrison went off to the break area while Robert and Ryan waited for the coffeemaker.

“You seem like a smarter than average storm trooper,” Robert said. “So, I assume I don’t have to give you the ‘you break his heart, I break your face’ speech.”

Ryan deliberately looked Robert up and down, taking his time. “You figure you can take me?”

“I don’t have your height or reach, but I got skills.” Robert smiled slyly.

“Martial arts?” Ryan guessed. “Which one.”

“Most of them.”

“Tom’s right. You’re cute.”

“And you’re sexy all day long. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Or that I didn’t notice you flirting with me the first time we met.”

Ryan shrugged. “You use what you got.”

“Yeah, see, that won’t cut it where Tom’s concerned. You might have noticed that I’ve taken a real interest in his future. This isn’t the kind of thing I normally do, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I’m even thinking of setting up a foundation for street kids.” Robert paused. “It just kills me that a kid as smart and sweet and… and _decent_ as he is basically got tossed on the garbage heap. It’s just not right.”

“No, it sure ain’t.” Ryan smiled at Robert. “Believe it or not, I think we’re going to get along just fine. You’ll see I want nothing but good things for him too.”

As Robert handed Ryan a cup of coffee, he peered searchingly into his eyes. “You’re not a sociopath, are you?”

“Not according to my last psych evaluation.”

“Good.” Robert patted Ryan’s shoulder. They could hear Tom and Harrison being loudly happy about something. “You ready for this?”

“I doubt it, but you know, I’m a man and all. I’ll take the challenge.”

“You and young Mr. Holland might have a little too much in common.”

“You have no idea. Now come on. I can’t wait to get my ass beat at something.”

An hour later, Robert excused himself to do some work on his laptop, and Harrison ostentatiously left Tom and Ryan alone in the lounge.

“Come sit down.” Tom patted the couch next to him. “What are you afraid of?”

“You.”

Tom laughed. “That’s awesome. Now, come here.”

Ryan sat. “That was a nice dinner,” he said one more time. “I think your dad likes me. I think your mom wants to sex me.”

“Harrison wouldn’t dare lay a finger on you.”

“Easy.” Ryan smiled at Tom’s sharp tone. “You the jealous type?”

“I’m the ‘beat a bitch who mack on my man’ type.”

Ryan chuckled. “I’m really glad it isn’t awkward between us,” he said. “I mean, since we shared too much information and all.”

Tom nodded. “Me too. Harrison’s the only other person who knows the whole story.”

“Not an easy story to tell.”

It was quiet for several moments and then Tom put his hand on Ryan’s. “This okay?” he asked, the way he wished he’d been asked each time a stranger had put hands on him.

“Yeah, why not? What’s the harm in holding hands?”

Tom drew his fingertips lightly over Ryan’s palm, a trick he’d learned from someone he’d deliberately forgotten.

“Damn,” Ryan said. “That was very… sensuous.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist, after you said, you know, about it being harmless.”

“It’s okay. No harm, no foul. Just warn me next time.”

“I want to kiss you,” Tom said instantly, surprising both of them.

“Uh— I’m still dealing with a few things here. One, the fact that I’m attracted to a teenager. Two, the fact that the teenager appears to be attracted to me. Three, our combined histories. Four, my job. Five… what the hell are we doing?”

“So… no kiss?”

Ryan smiled. “You just might be good for me,” he said.

“Or I could be the worst thing that ever happened to you.”

“That did occur to me.”

“But?” Tom squeezed Ryan’s hand.

“But I couldn’t stay away, and that’s the truth. I tried, but I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“What convinced you to come see me?”

“The intense wet dreams mostly.”

Tom laughed. “When did you know?” he asked when he caught his breath. “Seriously.”

“It was actually sometime during the night we spent in the woods. I felt such a strong—no, it was an overwhelming urge to protect you and care for you. It was more than an urge though. It was like…. Something was telling me that this is what I was born for, the thing I was meant to do. This is my destiny.” Ryan shook his head. “Sounds even more ridiculous out loud than I thought it would.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Tom disagreed vehemently. “It’s not ridiculous. I felt the same thing and it scared the crap out of me. I kept telling myself it was just the situation we were in. That I’d forget about you when it was over.” He looked down. “But I didn’t.”

“This is crazy,” Ryan said softly.

“So crazy.” Tom squeezed Ryan’s hand again. “Honestly, I never thought I’d feel this way about someone. I didn’t think I _could_ feel this way, because, you know.”

Ryan nodded. “I know. I didn’t think I could love anyone either. Didn’t think I’d ever trust anyone enough to let them get that close. I did all right for a while, and then I met Scarlett.” He smiled a bittersweet smile. “She wouldn’t let me get away with my usual tricks for keeping people at a distance. You know that song about the wrecking ball? That was her.” He smiled again. A sweeter smile. “I actually said that when I spoke at her memorial service.”

“She saved my life,” Tom said.

“She saved us both.” Hesitantly, Ryan put his arm around Tom’s shoulders.

Tom leaned against Ryan, and Ryan pulled him a little closer. “This is really nice,” Tom said.

“Mmhmm.” Ryan turned his head to meet Tom’s gaze.

The moment stretched out like honey on a cold morning, suspended between spoon and teacup. Tom moved first. With a supple twist, he put a hand on the back of Ryan’s head and pulled him down into a kiss that was brief but definitely memorable.

“Now that the ice is broken,” Ryan murmured just before he took Tom’s mouth in a sweet kiss that eloquently conveyed what he was feeling better than any words ever could.

“This is scary-good,” Tom said breathlessly.

“I know what you mean.” Ryan leaned his forehead against Tom’s. “But no one is going to take this away from us. I promise you that.”

“I’d hate to be the person who tried,” Tom agreed.

“You feel it, right? I’m not crazy.”

“Oh, you’re crazy, for sure, but yeah, of course, I feel it.”

“Robert said we’re too much alike.”

“He says a lot of stuff. He’s usually right. It’s… annoying.”

“You know, I could sit here all night just holding you and talking shit, but I have a feeling it’s getting late, and I do have the semblance of a job to keep up.”

Tom, who was half on Ryan’s lap by this time, moved to let him stand up. “You’ll come for dinner tomorrow,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t see how I can stay away.”

Tom went to the front door with Ryan and got another hug for his trouble. Floating several inches off the ground, he crossed the large space and went out the back door. He entered the garage apartment and almost screamed when Harrison spoke from the darkness.

“That took a minute. How many times did you get off?”

Tom laughed. “I remain unsullied by Officer Reynolds.”

“What the hell were you doing then?”

“Talking mostly.”

“What a waste of time.”

“Anyway,” Tom said sharply. “It wasn’t boring talking to him. I’m actually dying to know more about him. Like I’m actually thinking about googling him.”

“I’ll just bet you are.”

Tom laughed again. “Man, how did we get so lucky?”

“Hey, we paid for it in advance.”

“I’m trying really hard not to fuck it up.”

Harrison stood and put his arms around his friend in a warm hug. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t let you fuck up.”

“You’re the world’s biggest fuck-up. In fact, you’re just a fuck looking for a place to up.”

“Keep talking. I’m not afraid to tickle you.”

“Dick.”

“Hose monster.”

Tom laughed as he snuggled closer. Harrison could always make him laugh, even in the darkest times. Right up until Dandy introduced him to rails. After that, all he cared about was snorting H. Tom understood; the high helped Harrison forget what he had to do to get it. Tom hoped those days were gone forever.

“You’re such a fag,” Harrison said fondly.

“Mmm, but I’m your fag.”

“That won’t make Officer Reynolds happy.”

“Shut up.” Tom let go of Harrison, but he was smiling. “You’re probably right though.”

“He looks like the possessive type to me.” Harrison followed Tom to the bathroom and watched him brush his teeth. “But you love that, don’t you?”

Tom grinned and then spit into the sink. “You’re so cute when you’re eaten up with envy.”

“I got kidnapped too,” Harrison said, with a charming pout. “Why don’t I get a hot cop to play with?”

Tom pushed past Harrison and went to the bedroom. He sat on the bed and took off his sneakers. “Hooker, please, how many one-night stands have you had since you got out of rehab?”

Harrison smirked. “A few. Robert’s friends are very… friendly. Also, clean, polite, and rich.” His smiled turned wistful. “I really wouldn’t mind if he took a shine to me though.”

“What happened to your plan of marrying a rich widow who took over her husband’s company and became a powerful, ballbusting CEO?”

“I don’t think I want to be a pet anymore.”

Tom finished undressing and got into bed naked.

“Want me to turn off the lights?” Harrison asked.

“If you’re going to bed.”

Harrison turned off the hall light and the overhead in the bedroom, and then got into bed. “I really do envy you,” he said. “I can feel it in my gut. Ryan is one for you. With a capital O.”

“I feel it too.” Tom turned onto his side.

“That’s a pretty nice silver lining.” Harrison sighed and punched his pillow into another shape. “Is it asking too much for me to find a gorgeous, sexy guy to worship me for the rest of my life?”

“You’re nuts.”

“Honey, I watched Ryan when he was watching you. All I want is for someone to look at me like that. It might take him a while to say it, but he’s smitten. Ply your wiles and he’ll be eating out of your hand.”

“To paraphrase a wise man, I don’t think I want a pet anymore.”

Harrison chuckled softly. “Sounds like something an airhead whore would say.”

“Consider the source.”

They laughed way too hard.

“I’m really happy for you, Tommy,” Harrison said softly.

“It’ll happen for you too. Now, go to sleep. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“I don’t remember anything on the schedule.”

“Ryan’s coming for dinner again.”


	19. Nineteen

Tom got out of the leased Audi Q5 and went to the back to get his shopping. As he popped the hatch, he wasn’t thinking of anything weightier than the beef bourguignon recipe Robert had suggested. It looked simple enough though time-consuming. Fortunately, Tom had nothing but time today and was looking forward to looking forward to Ryan’s company while he cooked. 

Tom was leaning into the cargo area when someone quite large grabbed him from behind and put a hand over his mouth. He was manhandled to the curb and shoved into the back of an SUV. He didn’t recognize the driver or the man next to him.

_Not this again_. “You’re a big one,” Tom said to the guy who’d snatched him.

“You can call me Lee, and try not to make disparaging remarks.”

The driver’s laughter sounded like grunting.

“That’s Dave,” Lee said. “If you care.”

“What the hell?” Tom said. “Who are you?”

“I could swear I just told you.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“My boss wants to talk to you,” Lee said.

“Who’s your boss?”

“You’ll meet him soon.”

Tom looked out the window and wondered how much it would hurt if he jumped out now. Lee and Dave had a distinctive air of barely controlled violence he was familiar with thanks to Dandy’s dealings with the Mob. He’d bet real money these men were soldiers in some capo’s private army of goons. Tom did not like how this was shaping up at all.

“Do you know why your boss wants to talk to me?” Tom asked.

“That’s not something I need to know to do my job,” Lee said humorlessly.

Tom sat back and finished the ride in silence.

Back at home, Harrison came outside to find the car sitting in the sun with the hatch open and groceries in the back. He took out his phone and called Robert. In less than fifteen minutes, Robert arrived home and made Harrison tell him everything he could remember. Robert listened, looked at the car, and then called Ryan.

“You have security cameras?” Ryan asked on his way out the door of the squad room. “Take a look. I’m on my way.”

Lee and Dave marched Tom into a large office. A man who was younger than Tom expected sat behind a massive desk. The chair in front of the desk swiveled to face the door.

“Hello, Billy Joe,” Hiddleston said.

“What are you doing here?” Tom said in surprise.

The man behind the desk cleared his throat.

“Sorry, Mr. Brolin,” Lee said. “Kid, keep quiet until Mr. Brolin tells you to talk.”

“First,” Brolin said. “I want to assure you that you don’t have anything to fear from me. Do you prefer Tom or Tommy?”

“I’d prefer to be home planning dinner… sir.”

Brolin smiled. It looked like he was making an effort, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand. This is an imposition on you, and you’ve had just about enough of that.”

“Could we get to the point?”

Hiddleston smiled. “I told you,” he said to Brolin. “No fear.”

“Not another word until I give you permission,” Brolin said.

To Tom’s surprise, Hiddleston meekly obeyed. “What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked Brolin.

“We’ve discovered Mr. Hiddleston liquidated certain accounts, preparing to flee to an island he was in the process of buying. Since some of those accounts were linked to some of mine, I was naturally interested. From the evidence we’ve gathered, it seems Mr. Hiddleston offed his boss and stole damn near everything. That kind of personal initiative is frowned on in our business. It sets a bad precedent.”

“That makes sense,” Tom said. “But how does it concern me?”

“Mr. Hiddleston has made some large claims about Mr. Weaving and why it’s actually a good thing that he’s dead. Mr. Hiddleston seems to think he did the world a favor.”

“You want to know if it’s true?”

Brolin nodded gravely. “I understand you spent some time in Hugo’s company. I’d like to hear what opinions, if any, you formed about the late Mr. Weaving.”

Tom met Hiddleston’s blue-silver gaze and held it for several seconds before he turned back to Brolin. “Okay, so here’s everything I know about Mr. Hugo Weaving. He rented me from a pimp called The Dandy. As far as I know, Hiddles here was Weaving’s driver; he picked me up anyway. As soon as I got there, Weaving let me know that he intended to do some really sick shit to me. Before he could, uh, shackle me, The Dandy showed up, and Weaving tore him apart. With his bare hands, I assume. And then he, uh, kind of… snacked on him.”

“You saw this?” Brolin asked. “This… cannibalism?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brolin looked at Hiddleston. “I believe the kid,” he said. “You live, but the money stays here.”

“Thank you,” Hiddleston said. “May I say something to Tom before I go?”

“Knock yourself out,” Brolin said.

Hiddleston met Tom’s gaze. “I know they didn’t give you any choice, but thank you for corroborating,” he said.

Tom shrugged. “I told the truth, that’s all.”

“You didn’t have to, though. That’s why I’m thanking you.”

“You really want to thank me? Tell you what. There are worse things out there than you… like Hugo, for instance. If you run across one, put it down for me.”

“Do-able,” Hiddleston said. He looked at Brolin.

“Go.” Brolin flapped a large hand at him. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Hiddleston paused as he passed Tom on his way out. “Come with me,” he said.

Tom laughed. “I’m so over bad boys.”

“Bullshit.” Hiddleston smiled before he walked away.

“Can I go now?” Tom asked Brolin.

“In a minute. I’m hoping I can trust you to keep this conversation private, but since I have no reason to trust you, and you have no reason not to screw me over, here’s what I’m going to do.” Brolin glanced at Lee and Dave. “For as long as I hold power, you have nothing to worry about. Some mook decides to mess with you, and he gets a visit from Lee and Dave. Got it?”

Tom nodded. “That’s a good effort at buying my silence, but my boyfriend is definitely not going to be cool with it.”

“Your—” Brolin cleared his throat and composed himself. “Who’s your significant other again?”

Tom very much enjoyed saying, “Detective Ryan Reynolds.”

“The cop Hiddleston said Weaving shot, Boss,” Dave said helpfully.

Tom nodded. “That would be him. He’s doing fine now, thank you.”

Dave said, “I hear he’s a good cop.” He shrugged massive shoulders. “Don’t know much more.”

“I think he’d be reasonable if we put it to him the right way,” Lee said. “We’re just protecting the kid, right?”

“Enough,” Brolin said. “Give the kid a ride home.”

“I have a name, and it’s not kid,” Tom said.

Brolin smiled. “I know, but wouldn’t you rather I forgot it?”

“Good point.”

Ryan pointed at the monitor. “That’s Lee Pace,” he said, as they watched the very tall man carry Tom to the SUV. “Not many guys his size in organized crime. I’d bet Dave Bautista is the wheel man. He usually partners with Pace.”

Robert caught up with Ryan at the door. “You aren’t going without me,” he said.

“Or me,” Harrison said.

“Christ on a cracker!” Ryan growled. “All right, get in the fucking car.”

Fifteen nerve-racking minutes later, Robert and Harrison sighed in relief when Ryan slammed on the brakes.

“Fuck me sideways!” Ryan exclaimed as he threw the gearshift into park and bolted from the car.

“Um, we’re still in the street,” Harrison pointed out from the backseat.

Robert slid over to the driver’s seat and pulled over to the curb. He and Harrison bailed out and took off after Ryan. They found him in the alley between the two buildings across the street. He had Hiddleston pinned to the bricks with a hand around his throat. The barrel of his gun was pressed to Hiddleston’s forehead.

“Where the fuck is he?” Ryan shouted.

Hiddleston jerked a thumb at the building behind him. Ryan eased his grip but kept the gun trained on the hired killer.

“Who else is in there?” Robert asked.

Hiddleston glanced at Robert. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Brolin wanted Tom to confirm my story about Weaving being a world-class psycho.”

“As opposed to you?” Ryan said coldly.

“I’m not crazy,” Hiddleston said.

“That kind of makes you worse, in my opinion,” Ryan said. “Which is why I’m going to make sure you rot in prison.”

“Good,” Harrison said.

“Hey,” Tom said from the mouth of the alley. “What are you guys doing?” He looked back at Lee and Dave. “Thanks, you guys, but I’ll get a ride with my friends.”

Lee and Dave looked uncertain but decided they could always follow.

“Okay, T,” Dave said. “You take it easy now.”

Tom waved and walked down the alley.

Ryan kept his gun on Hiddleston. With his other arm, he pulled Tom to his side. “Jesus, punk, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’m pissed off at being dragged over here and having the crap scared out of me, but other than that, I’m okay.” Tom glanced at Hiddleston. “What are you doing with him?”

“I’m taking him to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“Do you have to?” Tom looked up at Ryan.

Ryan took his eyes off Hiddleston for a second to look at Tom. “Ah, come on. Do you have any idea of the humongous cred I’d get from a bust like this? International hit man arrested by local cop. Local hero cop.”

“Really?” Tom said.

“Why do you want me to let him go?” Ryan asked suspiciously.

“He was nice to me when he didn’t have to be,” Tom said. “And besides, I already nailed him in the ‘nads.”

“You did?” Ryan smiled.

Hiddleston nodded. “It was… extremely painful.”

“He saved your life,” Tom told Ryan. “And mine.”

“Goddammit!” Ryan shouted. “Okay. He walks.” He took a fistful of Hiddleston’s shirtfront. “But if I ever catch you sniffing around Tommy again, I’ll do things to you that will make your late boss look like a schoolboy. Tell me you believe me, sweetheart.”

“I do.” Hiddleston straightened his tie when Ryan let go of him. “I’m officially retired,” he said. “By the way, you might want to look at one of your colleagues with the ironic name of Law. Hugo took a few calls from him. Tom, I wish you only the best.” With that, Hiddleston walked away and out of Tom’s life for good, as far as anyone knew.

“What the actual fuck, Tommy?” Harrison said. “You can’t even run an errand without all hell breaking loose?”

“First things first. Did you put my stuff in the fridge?” Tom looked around at the other three men. “Oh my god. Are you kidding? There’s like fifty bucks worth of meat.”

“We’ll stop and buy more,” Robert said. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” He put a hand over his heart. “You have no idea what you just put me through.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Tom protested. “I was hijacked.”

“That reminds me,” Ryan said. “I need to have a little talk with Mr. Pace and Mr. Bautista.”

“Not right now, okay?” Tom said. “I’ve got a dinner to cook.”

“You’re too much,” Ryan said.

“What? I get kidnapped by gangsters all the time.”

“Get in the car,” Robert said. “I’ll roll the window down if you promise not to bark at other cars.”

Harrison laughed so hard he had to lean on Tom.

After a stop at the market, they arrived home to find an old friend of Robert’s waiting to see him. The big blond man slid off the hood of his shiny Hyundai Genesis and a sunny smile changed his entire demeanor.

“Chris!” Robert said before he was swallowed in a bear hug. “It’s been a minute,” he said breathlessly when the giant Viking let him go. He turned to the others. “Let’s go inside and I’ll make introductions, okay?”

“Everyone, this is Chris Hemsworth, an old friend and erstwhile bodyguard. Chris, from left to right, Harrison Osterfield, Ryan Reynolds, and in the kitchen is Tom Holland.” He smiled. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

“I have a new phone. Shit! I thought I told everyone on my super-secret private list.”

“Apparently not,” Chris said, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “Your erstwhile beard was concerned enough to call me, so I tried to get in touch. I was in the boonies until about three this morning or I would’ve swung by sooner.”

“Gwyneth hates it when you call her my beard,” Robert said.

“It’s the truth though,” Chris said. “I dare you to deny it.”

“I’m not saying she wasn’t my beard; I’m just saying she doesn’t like being called that.”

“Then she shouldn’t have—”

Robert held up his hands in a time-out gesture. “Tom! Can I invite Chris to dinner?”

Harrison shot Tom a pleading look.

“Sure,” Tom said. “It won’t be done for hours though.”

“That’s fine. We’ll have a party until then.”

“Party?” Harrison grinned. “Can I get anyone a beer?” He spoke to everyone, but he was looking at Chris.

Chris looked at Robert and shrugged. “I can hang.” He paused. “As long as it isn’t one of _those_ parties.”

Harrison looked intrigued.

“I don’t know why they bothered you,” Robert told Chris. “You got nothing to be ashamed of.” He turned to the others. “I used to throw toga parties,” he said.

“He means orgies,” Chris translated.

“No orgies here,” Ryan said. He glanced at the kitchen area. “Zero.”

“But there’s always the possibility,” Harrison said flirtatiously.

“Slow your roll,” Tom called out. “You’ve got all evening to hit on Robert’s friend.”

“Are you hitting on me?” Chris asked Harrison.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re gorgeous.”

“Okay then. Take all the swings you want.”

“Awesome,” Harrison said. “So, beers all around?”

“You wouldn’t try to get me drunk, would you?” Chris asked archly.

“Check his pockets for roofies,” Tom advised.

Harrison went to the kitchen. “Cut me some slack. I’m trying to get over with this guy.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” Tom used a pair of tongs to remove cubes of seared beef from a stockpot.

“So, stop hindering.”

“I’m trying to recall how considerate you were when Ryan and I started dating.”

Harrison grimaced. “This is a chance for you to be the bigger man.”

“I already am.” Tom smiled. “Where it counts.”

“I’m gonna smack you.”

“Whoa,” Ryan said from behind Harrison. “I know my little studmuffin can take care of himself, but you talk about hitting people way too much, if you ask me.”

“Uh, hello, no one asked you,” Harrison said.

“Beers?” Ryan prompted.

Harrison blushed. “I knew I came over here for a reason.”

“To bitch at me,” Tom said. “Now get your beer and go. I’ve got deglazing to do.”

Harrison grabbed a six pack from the fridge and hurried away.

“You can deglaze me later,” Ryan murmured in Tom’s ear.

Tom put an elbow in Ryan’s ribs. “Back off. I’m working here.”

“Okay. Okay. Jeez.”

“He’s feisty. I like that.” Chris chuckled and took a sip of his beer.

“Feisty?” Harrison said. “That’s one word for it.” He smiled at Chris. “I’m more of a lover than a fighter myself.”

“Oh, are you now?” Chris replied with a gleam of interest in his eye.

“Thank god,” Tom said, when Ryan wandered back into the kitchen. “That’s a load off my shoulders.”

“What’s that, babe?” Ryan took a bottle from the fridge and looked around. “Where do you hide the bottle opener?”

“The drawer you’re leaning against.” Tom kept stirring as Ryan popped the cap off the imported brew. “I’m happy Harrison found someone to torment.”

Ryan glanced over at Chris who looked riveted by whatever Harrison was saying. “I see what you mean. That’s great.”

“You still haven’t warmed up to him, have you?”

“Uh.” Ryan took a drink of his beer while he tried to judge Tom’s mood from his posture. “I like Harrison,” he said after a few seconds.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Ryan leaned back against the counter so he could watch Tom’s face. He was still wary of stepping on landmines when they talked. “I don’t dislike him.”

“Hm.” Tom added fresh herbs to the stock and put the lid on the pot. He turned to face Ryan. “Why don’t you tell me what bothers you about him?” He opened the fridge and got a beer.

“Nothing,” Ryan protested.

“He’s going to be in my life, Ry,” Tom said. “So, let’s thrash this out and be done with it.”

“I don’t really know.” Ryan shrugged. “I don’t think it’s jealousy. I mean, I don’t mind when you spend time with him.”

“But you don’t want to spend time with him.” Tom’s tone was almost accusatory.

“Maybe it’s just chemistry.” Ryan sighed. “Maybe it’s just that he reminds me of the horrible things that happened to you.”

“Well, get over it.” Tom smiled. “At least let him know you don’t hate him. It bothers him.”

“He thinks I hate him?”

“He thinks he reminds you of my past, which he does.”

Ryan sighed again. “Yeesh. I’ll let him know I don’t blame him, okay?”

“That would be awesome.”

“Why are you always the peacemaker?” Ryan said fondly.

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s all I really want?”

“You want a piece?” Ryan grinned. “Because I can arrange that.”

Tom returned the grin. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, but don’t tell Robert I said that.”

Ryan pulled Tom into a hug. “You’re a fucking miracle in my life,” he murmured into Tom’s hair.

“For fuck’s sake, Holland,” Harrison called out. “Get a room.”

Ryan drew back a bit to look into Tom’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay,” Tom said. “He can be annoying sometimes.”

Ryan smiled. “Eh, you know what? It’s kind of cute. Yeah. I’m starting to see what you like about him.”

“Ass.” Tom pretended to pout. “I should have run off with Hiddles when I had the chance.”

Ryan chuckled and kissed the top of Tom’s head before he let him go. “Tell you what. I’ll buy you an island someday.”

“I’ll hold you to that, mister,” Tom warned him.

Ryan put a hand on his crotch. “Why don’t you hold yourself to this?”

Tom laughed. “No dessert until after dinner.”

Robert sipped his wine and watched the others. This was not a future he’d ever imagined for himself, but it made him happy and had the feel of something permanent.

“Robert Downey, family man,” he murmured, trying out the sound of the words. He chuckled.

“What are you laughing about?” Tom asked as he and Ryan sat down.

“Old men sitting in the corner laughing by themselves is a sign of senility,” Ryan added.

“Well, that would explain why I keep you around,” Robert said. “And because this one is crazy about you.” He patted Tom’s cheek.

“Still the gayest dude I ever met,” Tom said.

“You know you love it.” Robert sipped his wine.

“Yeah.” Tom sighed. “Dammit.” 

“And you’re indentured to me until the end of the year.”

“Don’t remind me.” Tom got back up. “Forgot to add something to the pot. Be right back.”

“God help me, I love that kid,” Robert said frankly.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “I know what you mean.”

“Thanks for sharing him with me. I really do need him to launch my new designs.”

Ryan made a scoffing noise. “Tom does what he wants.”

“That’s true, mostly, but I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do for you.”

“Oh, come on. He almost dumped me five minutes ago because I don’t like Harrison enough.”

“That’s actually pretty funny.”

“Yeah? Because I wasn’t laughing. Believe me or don’t. You and I might have pieces of Tom’s heart, but that boy has part of his soul.” Ryan glanced at Harrison who was flirting shamelessly with Chris. “Whatever happened between them made a bond for life.”

Robert nodded. “Harrison’s a good kid, for what it’s worth. Right now, he’s kind of wallowing in his good fortune, and I don’t blame him, but he’ll get over it. Tom will see to that, believe me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Be patient.” Robert smiled. “I can’t believe I’m counseling someone to wait. I’ve never waited for anything in my life. Seriously, though, take it slow.”

“That’s my plan. I want to see that Tom never does anything he doesn’t want to do for the rest of his life.”

Robert clinked his glass against Ryan’s bottle. “Just don’t let him know we’re protecting him. He gets bent out of shape about it.”

“You’re telling me?”

Tom came back over. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” Robert said. “Turns out, we’re both proud of you.”

“Yeah, right.” Tom rolled his eyes.

Ryan kissed his cheek. “It’s true, though.”

Laughing, Robert leaned in to kiss Tom’s other cheek.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harrison said from across the room. “That’s just greedy, Holland.”

“Eat your heart out,” Tom said.


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the happy-ever-after epilogue.

Five years later….

With the help of some of Robert’s friends, Tom had acquired British citizenship, a passport, and a work visa. His parents’ foresight in having him fingerprinted hadn’t helped them find him, but it did come in handy for proving his identity when he really needed to. Robert’s predictions about his modeling career were accurate enough. He caused enough of a stir with his fresh face and haunted eyes to be in demand long enough to make a substantial amount of money. For a brief time, he was a media darling as “everyone’s kid brother.” However, the time came when he grew tired of the attention and decided on another career.

Tom graduated from a well-respected culinary arts school and was immediately hired by one of Robert’s friends who owned an upscale restaurant or two. After serving his apprenticeship, Tom ambitiously started a small catering business. Robert’s influence and his own cachet made sure he had no lack of clients in his first six months. Word got around, and soon Tom had no need to use Robert’s name. Two years after graduation, he was turning a profit with his own business.

As for Ryan, he and Tom had formed a solid partnership built with trust, gentleness, and oceans of patience. It wasn’t easy for either to be physically intimate at first, though both wanted it intensely. They took it slow, and though they had some setbacks, they did have a sex life to pair with the extravagant amounts of affection they lavished on one another. There were still a few issues, but things were going as well they possibly could, given their histories.

Tom was happy with his life and career, and when Robert called on him for a favor, he didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It was still dark when Robert’s all-time favorite model arrived on set, but everything was set up and ready to go. The wharf was cordoned off and lights set up along its ancient length. In the background was the rusting hulk of a freighter half a century old. Workmen on scaffolds waited next to their tools for the order to start the job. Wisps of mist from off the water curled around the weathered wood of the pier and haloed the high-intensity lights.

“You’re sure everyone up there knows what to do?” Robert pinned an assistant with his dark, commanding gaze.

“Absolutely!” Zendaya replied. She tapped the radio on her toolbelt. “As soon as you give the word, I signal those guys, and they go to town on that boat.”

“It’s a ship.”

“Not for long.”

“Touché.” Robert smiled at the cocky former street kid. She was one of the four-year-old Downey Foundation’s success stories. “Well, I guess I should stop telling you how to do your job and go do mine.”

“That would be the act of a wise man.” Zen raised her eyebrows.

Robert left the field to her and hurried over to the bank of cameras he’d set up with his own hands. He checked them one more time and was reaching for his phone when someone came up behind him and covered his eyes.

“If you think I can’t smell your aftershave, Ryan,” Robert said. “You’re wrong.”

“It’s not Ryan.”

“You sure smell like him.”

“And now it’s not fun anymore.” Tom let go of Robert.

Robert turned to smile at Tom. “Pro-tip: If you’re trying to surprise me, don’t let Reynolds rub all over you beforehand. He uses too much cologne.”

“I don’t smell it.”

“That’s called desensitization.”

“That’s a mighty big word for a—” Tom broke off when he couldn’t think of what to compare Robert to.

“I’m listening,” Robert said.

Ryan came up behind Tom and wrapped his arms around him. Like a friendly lion, he rubbed his cheek against Tom’s.

“Asshole,” Tom said. “I’ve told you a million times not to do that when you haven’t shaved.”

“Can’t shave. The scruffy look is in.”

“Then don’t do that.”

“I can’t help myself. Blame your pheromones.”

“Ew,” Tom said as he tried to pull free.

Robert noticed Tom wasn’t trying very hard. “Both of you stop it, or I’ll have to fiddle with the hang of that suit again.”

“I’ll fiddle with your hang,” Ryan replied.

“Lame,” Tom said. “Come on. Cut it out. I don’t want to be primped again.”

“I’ll primp you,” Ryan said—as Tom should have known he would—but he let go.

“Come here.” Robert crooked a finger at Tom. He fussed with the suit for a few minutes, straightening the tie, smoothing the lapels, tugging the hem until the shoulders fit just right. “You look perfect,” he said. “I’m ridiculously excited about this show. Ludicrously even. Thanks for coming out of retirement to do it.”

“That sounds very grand,” Tom said. “For someone whose career lasted a couple of years.”

“Nervous?”

“Am I ever?”

Robert smiled. “Okay, you know your mark. Go get in place and I’ll tell Zen to wind them up.” He took Ryan’s arm. “You come sit with me and the other VIPs.”

Robert led Ryan to a small cordoned area at the end of the runway that also served as a gangplank to the rusting freighter. Harrison was there already with Chris. Ryan sat and took the glass of champagne Robert offered.

“You two back together?” Ryan asked.

Harrison shook his head. “I just needed a date as beautiful as I am.”

“We’ll see.” Chris winked at Ryan. “The night is young.”

“Everyone comfy?” Robert asked. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Where are you going?” Chris asked.

“Some last minute details.”

“I know that smile by now. What gives?” Ryan said.

“If you must know; Tom’s suit was a decoy. My new line has some jackets, but the look is quite bohemian overall. I need to go supervise the change. Get ready. This show is going to open with a bang.” Robert hurried away.

Twenty minutes later, at exactly nine o’clock, Robert returned and took his seat. As soon as he did, all the lights went out. After a count of ten, just as the audience started to murmur, a bass beat swelled out of the big amplifiers on the ship. It was a pulse not unlike the famous theme from Jaws. Above the bassline, the shivering wail of an electric violin rose and fell in an industrial version of an Irish reel. At various spots on the flank of the old ship, power tools growled and whined, and then grinding wheels touched metal and trails of sparks arced across the darkness. One by one, lights came on along the runway. An archway of sparklers was lit spelling out the name of the collection: Style Survivor. A palpable wave of wonder and anticipation rippled through the crowd.

Against this backdrop. Tom stalked down the boards, the lights burning red in hair carefully styled to look unstyled. He wore a pair of jeans in olive denim with maroon patches at the knees and fine leather fringe down the outseams. The cream-colored sweater was deliberately frayed and raveled exposing selected portions of his anatomy: the bronzed knob of a shoulder, a crescent of cobbled abs, and the sweet curve of a flank disappearing into the low waistband. The sleeves hung to his fingertips and the hem to mid-thigh. A pair of pre-scuffed faux Doc Martens in mustard suede were half-unlaced with the tops folded down. He projected several disparate elements as he moved: artlessness, daring, resilience, and sex appeal among them.

A tiny windmill on a fine gold chain caught the light as Tom reached the end of the runway and stopped. He couldn’t see past the lights, but he knew where Ryan was sitting and gave him a model’s fierce stare, before turning to the right. He gave the people on that side a good look and then swung to the left. Pause, one two three, and then he was striding back up the runway to the sound of applause.

“Goddam,” Ryan said. “You’ve outdone yourself, Robert.”

“Half the credit goes to Tom,” Robert said, as the next model appeared on the runway in an oilcloth tunic. “He makes me look good.”

“Sex on two legs,” Chris said, and then he exclaimed, as Harrison smacked the back of his head. “Hey, what was that for?”

“Stop drooling over my bestie.”

“It was merely an observation,” Chris said reproachfully.

“Are you allowed to be jealous if you dumped a guy?” Ryan wondered aloud.

“No one asked you,” Harrison said.

“Hey,” Robert said sharply. “Can we get back to what’s important here? You showering me with praise.”

“It didn’t suck,” Harrison said promptly.

Ryan chuckled. “No, it sure didn’t, but you do, and quite well, I hear.”

Harrison smacked Chris again.

“You can stop hitting him… or not, but Tom told me,” Ryan said.

“Bitch!” Harrison exclaimed.

“Hey, he complimented your head,” Ryan told him.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Harrison said. “It was only the once. We were like fourteen or so and had the tragic delusion that we were in love. Actually, we were just scared, desperate, and lonely, but we went ahead and tried to have sex anyway.” He grimaced. “Big mistake. We could barely look at each other after. It took a while for the squickiness to go away.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryan nodded. “So, you’re saying Tommy was lying about how good the head was.”

Robert and Chris laughed, and eventually, Harrison joined in.

“I should get backstage and make sure everything is right for the second half of the show. I’ll send Tom out.” Robert paused and then spoke directly to Ryan. “What’s with Tom’s new jewelry?”

“Birthday present,” Ryan said. “A solid gold windmill. It’s kind of a play on his last name.” He shrugged. “I also gave him two lips.”

Robert groaned. “That was an abysmal pun. See you in a few minutes.” He walked away.

“What pun?” Harrison asked.

“Tulips. Two lips,” Chris said.

“All you did was say tulips twice.” Harrison frowned.

“I’ll explain later.”

“Fine.” Harrison turned back to Ryan. “He’s not Dutch, you know. He’s a Brit… technically.”

“Yeah. Obviously. Do you have a point?”

“Instead of a windmill, you could’ve got a….” Harrison’s voice trailed off.

“What?” Ryan cupped a hand behind his ear. “Big Ben? Buckingham Palace? A tiny queen?”

Harrison narrowed his eyes in thought. “Double-decker bus,” he said triumphantly.

“No dumber than a windmill,” Chris added.

“You’re both severely lacking in taste,” Tom said.

“How long have you been standing there?” Harrison said in an accusatory tone.

“Not long.” Tom sat, clad once again in the immaculately tailored suit Robert had cut and sewn with his own hands. He touched his fingertips to the pendant. “The windmill is a great visual. It’s basically an X superimposed on an elongated triangle.”

“Ugh, she’s no fun at all since she got herself a big ol’ education,” Harrison teased.

Tom grinned. “Some of us need book learnin’. We can’t all skate by on our looks.”

“Hey, babe,” Ryan said. “I’m feeling neglected.”

“How can I help?” Tom asked.

“You can give me some sugar. I’m about a quart low.”

Harrison rolled his eyes and pretended to fan away fumes. “The schmaltz of it all.”

“Fuck you. It’s sweet,” Tom said.

“My point exactly,” Harrison replied.

“Harrison.”

“Yeah?”

“Eat your heart out,” Tom said as he leaned from his seat to give Ryan a lingering kiss.

“Get a room,” Harrison said predictably. “And why did you get a present? It’s not your birthday yet, Holland. Not for three more days.”

“We had a private celebration last night,” Tom said. “Just me and Ryan sitting on a table lit only by the candles of the cake between us.”

“Sixteen candles, was it?” Chris asked.

“Twenty-four,” Harrison corrected.

“It was a joke,” Chris said.

“Ryan’s giving me an education in the Eighties,” Tom said. “So far, not too shabby.”

“Back to the point,” Harrison said. “I thought you might be trying to get out of your real birthday party.”

“What? No. Why would I do that? I look forward all year to being massively embarrassed by my closest friends.”

“Learn to take it like a man, Holland,” Harrison said. “Anyway, you deserve to be celebrated, so we’re damned well going to celebrate you.”

“Can we do it at the lake this year?” Tom asked. “And keep it fairly low-key.”

“What’s low-key?” Harrison asked. He turned to Chris. “What does it mean this word?”

“For one thing, it means no helicopters. Especially no helicopters raining glitter. You wouldn’t believe how much the clean-up on that cost.”

“I’d better call and cancel the silly string cannons then,” Harrison said. “You still want a bounce house though, right?”

“Always.” Tom smiled at Ryan. The kind of smile someone gives a lover when they remember a particularly good time.

“Yuck! They’re going all gooey-eyed again,” Harrison said. He looked away as Robert returned “How soon could I get one of those peek-a-boo sweaters?”

“There’s only one,” Robert said. “And it belongs to Tom. I designed it for him. I overheard someone call it wearable art.” He gloated just a little.

Harrison turned to Tom, but kissing had ensued once more. “I’ll get that sweater,” Harrison said under his breath. “It _will_ be mine.”

Robert chuckled. “I’ll make you one,” he said. “But in black.”

“Thank you.” Harrison fluttered his eyelashes at Robert.

“At ease,” Robert said.

Tom tore himself away from Ryan to greet Robert. “Great show,” he said. “You’re still the best.”

“Oh, am I really?” Robert attempted a Southern belle accent.

“Yes,” Tom said. “You’re also unique, which I’m sure means more to you.”

“Thanks,” Robert said sincerely, no play in his voice.

“I’m going to embarrass you now and thank you for saving my life.” Tom glanced at Harrison. “And his as well.”

“You’ve thanked me on many occasions,” Robert said. “There’s really no need.”

“I need to say it,” Tom said. “If you hadn’t taken enough of an interest to give me your phone number, I’d probably have been dead for years, instead of headlining a fashion show.”

Ryan cleared his throat.

Tom smiled. “And of course, the happily ever after thing. I wouldn’t have met Ryan if all that shit hadn’t gone down, so Harrison was right about the silver lining.”

“And now I have the title of my next show,” Robert said. “The Silver Lining.”


End file.
